


the choices of war

by darthpumpkinspice



Category: Star Wars - All Media Types, Star Wars Prequel Trilogy, Star Wars: The Clone Wars (2008) - All Media Types
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Enemies to Friends, Evolving Tags, F/F, F/M, Gen, M/M
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-11-30
Updated: 2018-10-17
Packaged: 2019-02-08 21:19:48
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 12
Words: 31,919
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12873255
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/darthpumpkinspice/pseuds/darthpumpkinspice
Summary: Obi-Wan never comes to rescue Satine, and she finds that an alliance with Maul might be the only way to save her people.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Hope you enjoy, and let me know what you think! I'm hoping to add a chapter every few weeks or so, but I haven't exactlyyyy mapped out how this story will go, so it'll be fun discovering that along the way. Savage will eventually be in it, and I hope explore his character a bit, and Bo-Katan will also be in it- but in more of an antagonistic role right now.

She waits for him.

Patiently, at first. She closes her eyes and folds her hands together and concentrates on the muted hum of the air filters to lull her into a meditative trance. She lets herself contemplate happier times, and remembers how Obi-Wan once taught her how to meditate.

Well. _Attempted_ to teach her. These were back in the days when Obi-Wan was still a young Padawan, brash and impatient and possessed of a quality Satine would easily label “hot-headed” in anyone but a Jedi. He hadn’t been the best instructor, although she readily admitted she had not been the most attentive student either.

He’d snapped at her for not understanding, and she’d snapped back _it’s easy enough for_ you, _Kenobi. I can’t feel the force._

They’d glowered at each other, both silently fuming. She remembered she had been close to making a comment about how he should go meditate now, if it was so easy, and the quip had been right on the tip of her tongue, almost fully formed into speech. Instead, he had kissed her, and all her words and clever gibes dissolved under the heat of his lips.

He had been a better lover then teacher. Satine suspects he would be a much more competent instructor now. She’s watched him mature into a wise and capable Jedi Master, and she’s admired him even more for fostering gentleness in himself amidst a chaotic war. She lets her mind wander further, and imagines him sitting with her, a smile tugging at his lips, patiently taking her through the steps to meditate.

Her chest clenches, and a sudden feeling of melancholy rushes through her. She needs him here. She feels her patience running out.

Her patience is hardly infinite. And after it has disappeared she waits anxiously. She pulls her hair out of her perfectly coiffed braid and plays with it until it is a dismal mess. She picks at her dress, and after a few more days in isolation begins to mutter to herself. Or, she assumes it’s been a few days. The lights never dim in her cell, and she has no marker with which to track the passing of time. Her sleep is fitful, and disturbed with nightmares of monsters whose eyes glow with yellow malevolence. Her mind feels as frayed as her dress has become. Only one thought comes through crystal clear among the jumbled, sleep-deprived ones: _where is he?_

Nothing lasts forever, not even fear. Eventually Satine stops asking herself the question entirely. She devotes herself more fully to meditation, and works to calm her body and still her mind. Her thoughts stop wandering to Obi-Wan, and she manages to have dreamless sleeps. Her prison feels as a familiar as a home. Boredom becomes her most pressing and urgent enemy.

Boredom, she eventually finds, is almost like a dying star. In the absence of _any_ stimulation it either explodes into madness or collapses into true apathy. Satine is too disciplined for madness, and so the natural progression of things dictates that apathy becomes her new life, punctuated by moments of restlessness. And when she becomes too bored and apathetic to even care about the concept of hope, or the concept of rescue- when she becomes so disillusioned that she finds she cannot even _imagine_ true freedom- that is when he comes to her.

Darth Maul, son of Dathomir, lord of Mandalore, and more importantly in this moment- her captor.

 _Force_ , she thinks. _He’s beautiful_. If she were being honest with herself, she would admit that this thought is mostly fueled by the fact that she hasn’t seen anything or anyone beyond her cell in longer then she can remember. She hasn’t interacted with a person in that long either, beyond the imaginary Obi-Wan she conjured in her head, and he mostly exists to engage her in long made-up debates about pacifism versus conflict, where she always wins and he always ends up awed at her brilliance.

But this, here…this is a real person. And she cannot find it in her to care that he is a tyrant who usurped her rule and enslaved her world. He’s so colorful, it’s dazzling. She hasn’t seen _red_ or _gold_ in so long, she’d almost forgotten what they looked like. And he’s so vividly red, and his tattoos are so intricate, and his eyes are so _bright_ …she thinks he’s saying something, but she’s just staring at him in amazement, gaping slightly. Her eyes roam his body, trailing the line of tattoos  until she has returned to his face. His brow furrows, and his eyes darken slightly, and in the back of her mind she registers that emotion as _anger_. But force it’s an exquisite sight to behold. And his anger-darkened eyes remind her of storm clouds, and that’s not a thought she’s had in a long time, and it leads her to a memory of rain and lightning and youthful wildness that deserves to be savored.

A part of her suspects she’d be equally enchanted by a Hutt in this moment.

She hears the door to the cell open briefly, and Maul slips in. He leans back against the wall, and waits for her to say something.

Satine would be content silently staring at him for hours. This is the most excitement she’s had in a very, very long time. Eventually, he seems to realize this.

“What a sad sight you’ve become, Duchess,” he says, and his silky voice carries a note of mocking pity. “I hope I didn’t break you so easily, without even trying? What a waste.”

It’s the mockery that snaps Satine back to a semblance of herself. She’s the _Duchess of Mandalore_ , usurped or not, and the thought of anyone _gloating_ over her is enough to spark her pride back to life. Her voice is rough with disuse, but she manages to laugh. “Bored, not broken, my lord. That is the grand result of your efforts.”

His gaze sharpens, and he smirks. “My apologies.”

“What are you doing here?” she asks, letting her arm sweep across the room as if it is a kingdom she has generously allowed him access to. She catches a glimpse of her reflection on the wall, and feels a twinge of embarrassment. Her blonde hair flies in every direction, her dress is dingy and tattered, and her blue eyes shine with a slightly deranged intensity. Her carefully cultivated dignity is a long-lost memory.

Maul moves from his reclining position against the wall to approach her, eyeing her with an amused consideration. She feels a chill in the air, and forces herself not to pull her arms closer to her body. Maul has taken everything from her, she will deny him any further victories she can, even the most insignificant.

He continues to examine her, until the silence, coupled with his scrutiny, becomes physically uncomfortable. 

“I asked you a question,” she snaps, and is disappointed that he doesn’t react in the slightest.

Finally, after a long pause, he says, “Kenobi never came.”

“ _Really?_ ” Satine gasps, feigning incredulity. She’s rewarded as a flicker of anger crosses Maul’s face, and she _knows_ baiting such a dangerous beast is a profoundly foolish effort…but she really cannot bring herself to care. He is a Sith Lord, true, but right now fear has become an alien emotion to her. She resigned herself to a slow death weeks ago. Why should it matter if that fate arrives a little faster?

Maul decides to ignore her response, and continues. “I hoped to use your distress signal to lure him here. But it’s been two months, and nothing.”

 _Just two months?_ Odd. Satine could’ve sworn it’d been even longer than that.

“Was his love for you really that weak? Did I underestimate both of you so badly?” There is no genuine curiosity, the question is intended only as another cruel taunt.   

“You may have underestimated Obi-Wan,” Satine allows. It’s an easy concession to make, she had spent many days raging at her imaginary Kenobi, furious with his continued absence. This remark seems to please Maul somewhat.

He lets himself slouch back against the wall again, and his next words are a lazy purr. “Such a foolish, hypocritical man. He breaks his precious Jedi code for you, and then leaves you to die alone.” Maul pauses and offers her a contemptuous smile.

Satine says nothing.

“How did you ever let such a man inside of you?” Maul asks, as coldly and softly as the creep of frostbite along skin.

Satine stiffens, and a flush of anger colors her cheeks. “I have nothing to justify to _you_ ,” she snaps. “What did you even come here for? Kill me, if that is what you came to do.”

Maul glances up at her idly. “Why should I? Without Kenobi to witness it, your death would give me little pleasure.”

Satine moves forward, approaching Maul, until she is near enough to see the faint crimson band around his otherwise yellow irises. It is unnerving being this close to the Sith, and a petty part of her hopes he’s uncomfortable too. The more logical part of her doubts the likelihood of that. He’s a war criminal who’s gone from terrorizing her world to ruling over it, with the child-killer Almec installed as the public face of the Sith’s reign. The man she’s boldly, and foolishly, confronting is barely a man at all, he’s a monster without decency or any trace of morality. Her imprisonment has clearly stripped her of her sanity- this is a being who might kill her on nothing more than a whim. Maul’s eyes brighten coldly, and she wonders if he has somehow sensed this realization in the force.

By all measures, she’s been living on borrowed time since he stepped into her cell. She eyes the weapons secured to his hips- one a sleek lightsaber, and the other the ancient war trophy Pre Vizsla was so fond of waving around. She refuses to let herself wonder which would have ended her life had Maul’s plan succeeded. But, she’s not dead _yet_. Maul hasn’t killed her, and there must be a reason for that. He’s in her cell, conversing with her without any other Mandalorians present…surely, that is _significant._ He wouldn’t be here just because he was hoping for a verbal jousting match, or because he found her company so alluringly irresistible. No. He’s here for a specific purpose, and all these taunts at her relationship with Obi-Wan have just been foreplay.

Satine tries desperately to think about what might have motivated him to come. Pre Vizsla is gone, Obi-Wan and the Jedi aren’t coming, and anything else beyond that would likely fall outside her range of knowledge. Except, of course, her sister.

“It’s Bo-Katan, isn’t it?” Satine asks slowly. “She’s still creating problems for you, and you can’t truly solidify your rule without her out of the way.”

If Maul is surprised by her deduction, he conceals it well. But he inclines his head in polite acknowledgment. “Indeed, Duchess. I’m glad prison hasn’t dulled your famed wits too much.”

“You think I can help with her somehow. But why?”

Maul straightens, and he looms before her menacingly. “Don’t play coy with me, Duchess,” he snarls, venom lacing through his words. “She’s your sister, and now that Pre Vizsla is gone I’m confident you know her better than anyone left in the galaxy does. My rule on Mandalore is secured, but her guerilla attacks on my soldiers prevent me from being able to move beyond this system.” Deliberately, he reclines back against the wall, and his voice loses its malevolent edge. “That…cannot be allowed to continue.”

“And why should I help you? Everything you’re doing is contrary to my most deeply held convictions.”

Maul smiles. “There are worse prisons then this one, Duchess. But I suspect the threat of torture would hardly motivate you. I want more than just your grudging compliance.” He gestures around the room. “I can offer to make these…accommodations…a little more accommodating. You could live quite pleasantly here, if you cooperate.”

Satine is shaking her head before he even finishes. “That’s not a reason, that’s a bribe. _Why_ should I help you? My people will suffer under your rule.”

“You will find,” Maul says calmly, “that I can be a just Mand’alore to my subjects. The people are not suffering under my rule, they are suffering through the conflict your sister inflicts upon this world.” His eyes gleam as he scrutinizes her, and she feels a faint itch in the back of her mind that suggests he’s probing at her thoughts as well. “You are a pacifist, Duchess, but you are a realist as well. You and I both know that right now there are only two futures for Mandalore- one with myself as a leader, and the other with your sister in charge.

“I know you still share some affinity towards your kin. But between the two of us, I will do less harm to this world and its people. Bo-Katan would gladly force every man, woman, and child into her army to recreate Mandalore’s warrior past. I have no use for an army of miserable conscripts, not when I have Death Watch and a mercenary force at my disposal.” Maul’s eyes glow even more intensely- they look like burning suns, just as fiery and just as deadly. “Your people would _suffer_ under your sister. But if you help me defeat her, you can help safeguard them with me. I have little concern for the minutiae of legislation. If you prove your loyalty to me, perhaps I would give you that responsibility.”

Maul lets that final offer dangle in the air, and Satine is forced to admit it is very tempting. Perhaps even a few months ago, before her idealism had been bled out of her with her people’s choice to abandon pacifism for Death Watch, and her imprisonment, she would’ve laughed in Maul’s face and refused. But now her beliefs are tempered with the reality of the situation. Bo-Katan, with all her love for war and the so-called glory days of Mandalore, would absolutely press millions of untrained Mandalorians into service. She would even think of it as a favor. And while Satine knows she can’t trust Maul, she also knows that she cannot help her people by rotting in a prison cell. Unfortunately, she is forced to conceded that Maul is right.

He doesn’t bother to hide his satisfaction as she admits this. She would never say this out-loud, of fear of incurring Maul’s wrath, but he does remind her of Obi-Wan a little. Both of them are so insufferably _smug_ when they get a taste of victory. It’s disconcerting.

“I have conditions, of course,” she states, as imperiously as she can.

“Whatever you desire,” he offers magnanimously.  

“You said you didn’t want my grudging assistance. If you want me as an ally, I’ll expect to be treated as one, and not as a prisoner. If you want information, I could give that to you, but I’ll presume you’ll respect my advice as well.” Satine pauses delicately. “And I want an actual room, not this cell.”

Maul’s eyes narrow suspiciously. “Do you take me for a fool? You think I’ll let you roam around so you can make another attempt at your freedom? Or try to contact the Jedi again?”

“I’ll give you time to take precautions, if you wish. But that’s not negotiable. I’m sick of this place.”

Likely still riding the high of his earlier victory, Maul gives up with a shrug. “I’ll make the arrangements.”

Before he leaves, he turns to her. “I’m satisfied at your agreement to work with me. I’ll confess, I didn’t expect you to see reason so quickly.” He regards her with a smirk. “I much prefer you to your Jedi lover. I had planned to kill you and keep him as my prisoner instead. But it pleases me that my company is someone I can respect.”

And with that final, back-handed compliment, he leaves. And Satine carefully lowers herself down onto the ground, suddenly exhausted and dazed. “What have I done?” she asks herself.  


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Wrote this wayyyy sooner then I thought I would! It's not very action-heavy, but it does introduce Gar Saxon, of Death Watch fame! He's maybe a bit more chipper here then usual, but hey, he's living his best life rn Enjoy!

Maul keeps his word: and this is something Satine takes as a minor miracle in and of itself. The small seed of despair that she’s struggled to compartmentalize properly since her imprisonment had fallen into a renewed grief as soon as the cell locked shut and Maul disappeared.

 _You’re going to die here, alone_ it had whispered. _He’s never coming back. Nobody will ever come._

She had resigned herself to a death in this empty solitude a long while back, and she thought she had accepted this fate. But with the hope of _some_ freedom and company (even unpleasant company) coaxed back to existence, Satine finds herself utterly terrified at the thought of being denied it. For the first time in her life, Satine wishes she were a more religious woman. The force does not heed the prayers of those blind to it, and she knows she would find no comfort or solace there.

As children, her and Bo had read about the stories of the ancient Mandalorians and their gods. Bo-Katan had been captivated by the tales of Kad Ha’rangir, the destroyer and War Himself.

Satine had been aghast at her sister’s fascination. _“Such a savage culture! They worshipped violence itself. Can’t you understand why we’ve come so far since then?”_

Bo had laughed in her face. _“Stagnation is the enemy of life, not war. There is glory in chaos, the old Mandalorians recognized this.”_ Or something along those lines. Satine admits her memory may have become a bit distorted over the years: she doesn’t think Bo was ever so eloquent.

She’d never seen eye to eye with her sister. Not now, and not then. But there is a desperate part of her that wishes there was a god listening above. The old gods of Mandalore would expect sacrifices of blood and violence as tribute for their assistance. As much as it sickens her, Satine knows her new ally could easily deliver. The Sith slew Pre Vizsla in combat, and stole his army and his weapon for himself. Kad Ha’rangir would surely be proud: few beings alive usher in the amount of wanton destruction Maul does.

Satine has never found war to be particularly holy, or glorious. She refuses to let herself pray to its divine personification. The small seed of despair does not obey.

But perhaps Kad Ha’rangir was listening after all. Perhaps he foresaw the ruin and conflict she would help Maul bring to her sister, and he saw it was good. Because Maul keeps his word and if that’s not a miracle Satine doesn’t know what is.

In a few days’ time, she’s greeted by armed Death Watch guards, their armor now a vibrant red to honor their new Mand’alore. One of them has even fastened sharpened durasteel to his helmet so that it resembles Maul’s horns. Despite herself, Satine finds herself admiring their devotion to Maul, and she wonders how he managed to inspire such loyalty. Certainly, Pre Vizsla had commanded respect, but she can’t recall seeing Death Watch ever refashioning their armor to better pay tribute to him. Perhaps these Mandalorians have come to see Maul as a god akin to Kad Ha’rangir: war incarnate- and they worship him with the same fervor they worship battle itself.

They escort her out of her cell, and as soon as the door snaps shut behind her Satine finds herself almost tearful with joy. Only the last vestiges of her political training allow her to keep her composure, but inside her heart sings with the taste of freedom. Her feet feel as light as feathers, and every step she takes away from her prison makes them feel lighter and lighter still. She had convinced herself she was going to die in there, and now that she’s left it feels like she’s been reborn.

The guards keep their pace brisk, forcing her to jog slightly to keep up. This is the most exercise Satine’s had in a while, and she’s embarrassed to note that she’s wheezing slightly by the time they arrive at the lift. She wonders if they’re laughing at her under their helmets: _weak little pacifist, can’t even_ walk _without losing her breath_.

Finally, the lift stops and they disembark. One of the guards, a woman, yanks on Satine’s arm and drags her forward. At her angry yelp of protest, the other guard looks over his shoulder.

“Gentle,” the horned-helmet guard chides. “Remember Mand’alore’s instructions.”

The woman tightens her grip briefly, and then releases Satine. “Sorry, commander,” she mutters, without a hint of contrition in her tone.  

An electronic huff comes out the commander’s helmet, and it takes Satine longer then she’d like to admit before she realizes it’s a laugh. “Come on,” he says.

They go through a maze of hallways before finally arriving at their destination, a thick door made of dark-stained wood. Satine has a passing familiarity of the area, but it appears Death Watch has redecorated. Everything’s a lot more _red_ then she remembers, and while they’ve left up the paintings and exotic art accrued during her time as Duchess, they’ve also added what appear to be war trophies to the walls. To her left is a gold-painted pistol that looks faintly blood-splattered, and she could’ve sworn she saw a sun bleached Trandoshan _skull_ a ways back.

“I love the new look,” Satine deadpans, gesturing at the pistol.

“Thanks, Duchess,” the commander says cheerily. He reaches out a gloved hand to stroke the muzzle of the weapon, and flicks at a brown splatter of blood. “Put that one up there myself. It was a glorious battle.”

“No it wasn’t, Saxon,” the woman retorts, and Satine can picture her rolling her eyes under the helmet. “He was half-dead already, you just put him out of his misery.”

“It was a glorious mercy-kill,” Saxon amends. For all his silence earlier, Satine is amazed at how talkative he’s become. She regrets ever saying anything about the trophies.

Both of them turn back towards the wooden door in front of them. There’s a security panel beside it that looks recently installed, and Saxon removes his helmet to let it scan his retina. The door pops open, and he offers Satine a smile. His gray eyes are as hard as flint.

“This is where we leave you, Duchess. It’s been a pleasure.” Saxon puts his helmet back on, and gestures at the woman. She grunts in Satine’s general direction, and the pair walks off at an idle pace.

Satine glances around, and wonders if it could really be this easy. Both her guards gone, free from her cell…nothing to stop her from simply running in another direction and escaping. But as much as her animal instincts urge her to bolt, her rational side knows she’d have no hope if she did that. She suspects the only exit available is likely through the same lift she came up on, and she wouldn’t be surprised if she were to find Saxon and his fellow soldier stationed there in case of her attempting to flee.

She eyes the door unhappily, and her recently revitalized hope curdles into cold dread. She knows what waits on the other side will likely be her new prison. She’s just traded one cell for another. She swallows down her fear and anger, and tells herself they won’t do her any good. She squares her shoulders and pushes the door open further, and steps inside.

It’s a large living space, probably originally a guest quarters for visiting dignitaries. The furniture is starkly white and designed to comfortably accommodate a variety of alien body types. There’s some strange, curvy blue sculpture that takes up most of the left wall, and on the ceiling is what appears to be an artistic rendering of the Mandalorian night sky. The constellations are familiar, if exaggerated, and there’s an interesting color palate at work. Satine can’t decide if it’s pleasant to look at or not.

 _Not_ , she eventually decides. But it seems like she’ll have plenty of time to learn to love it. Unfortunately.    

Satine moves further inwards, past the living room. There’s a small kitchen to her right, and a bathroom a little past that, and directly ahead are iridescent curtains that undulate faintly as if a phantom breeze ripples through them. She reaches out to run her fingers through it, and stifles a small sigh of pleasure. She lets her fingers dance through the cool shimmersilk, marveling at the sensation.

She pushes herself through the curtains, and on the other side is a bedroom, just as white as the living room. The only surprising addition is the Sith lord sprawled out on the chair in the corner, fiddling with a black object. He glances up at her as she approaches. “I brought a housewarming gift,” Maul says, and his voice is laced with the same dangerous playfulness as before. He tosses her the object in his hand.

It’s a good toss, and Satine catches it easily enough and examines it. It appears to be a communicator, but she can’t imagine Maul giving her access to anything that could be used to call for rescue.

Maul answers her unspoken question. “That thing will only get you to one person. I think you met my second in command earlier.”

Satine places it to the side. “So if I get terribly bored one afternoon, and desperately want conversation, Saxon will be there for me,” she says dryly. “I’m so glad.”

Something that could almost be mistaken for genuine amusement flickers in Maul’s yellow eyes, but his features remain impassive. “You did tell me boredom was the result of your imprisonment,” he reminds her. “I’d hate to see you so undone from boredom again.” He bares his teeth in a quick, cruel grin.

Satine settles herself on the edge of the bed, and has to stop herself from sinking into the mattress. Maul watches with an oddly indifferent curiosity, as if she were some zoo animal of vague interest. He’s not quite what she had pictured from Obi-Wan’s tales. Satine had imagined him a demon, filled with unbridled malevolence and snarling hatred. The man in front of her, lounging lazily over the furniture, and conversing with her in Coruscanti accent that reminds her more of a diplomat then a war criminal, does not seem to be the savage thing Obi-Wan spoke of. But Satine makes no mistake: it might’ve learned to speak softly, but the creature before her is still a beast.

However, the beast is now her ally, at least for the time being. “I appreciate the new accommodations,” she says.

Maul gives her a sly look, not fooled for a second by her display of gratitude. But he decides to respond in kind. “I hoped you might. I had Gar Saxon choose them himself.”  

“Really?” Satine laughs. “I can’t imagine that.” The thought of Gar Saxon, wandering from guest quarter to guest quarter until he came across one that he deemed suitable prompts a maniac humor to bubble up inside of her.

Maul shrugs. “He’s a loyal soldier. I give him battles to fight, and in return he does whatever else I ask.” His eyes roam the room, until he finally settles his gaze back to her. “I’ve never understood the taste for luxury. It all seems so…unnecessary.”

“In some ways,” Satine agrees. “But I also suspect you have a higher tolerance for scarcity then most inhabitants of the galaxy.”

“You’d be surprised what most people live without, Duchess,” Maul says, and his words drift into a cold purr. “Pacifism is easy when you have everything. But _peace_ is a lie. And the rest of us have to _take_ what we want.” In a swift, fluid motion he’s risen to his feet. “You’ll see soon enough. Get some rest, you’ll join the war effort in the morning.”


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Once again, released a lotttt sooner then I thought I would. The next chapter will probably take a bit longer. Anyway! Still action-light...but it's coming, I swear! Savage isssss in this, but in an admittedly pretty limited capacity. He'll get a bigger part soon! And another Saxon cameo! I actually really enjoyed writing Saxon, and he's gonna get an actual part to play going forward. Enjoy!!

Satine hadn’t been entirely clear on what Maul meant when he said she was due to join the war in the morning. Morning was one of those tricky words that could mean a great number of radically different things, depending on the person. As a Duchess, she had been part of more morning meetings, greetings, and conferences then she’d like to remember. Some of them had been just a hair after sunrise, when the clouds were still pink and there was still the faint chill of frost hanging in the air. Those had been excruciating; Satine recalls many yawning and bleary-eyed advisors and politicians. Her own ritual had involved rapidly downing as many cups of caf as she could, which only meant she’d been jittery and slightly lightheaded throughout many of these ordeals.

Some of the morning events had been held at more reasonable times. Usually, she could count on anything hosted by Almec to be later in the day. For all the man’s many, many faults he’d always had a civilized attitude on what constituted a fair time for a meeting. Or perhaps he’d just been bad at waking up early. In retrospect, it was hard to say.

Satine’s not sure where Maul falls on that spectrum, but knowing the man even a little she suspects he’s the type to gladly convene his war council at _exactly_ the crack of dawn. Death Watch would probably be good for it; after all they’re aligned with the spice-dealing Pyke Syndicate now. Accessing… _stimulation_ is likely not difficult for them. Satine decides to plan on that eventuality, and sets the chronometer in the room to wake her up precisely two hours before the Mandalore sunrise.

It’s surprisingly difficult waking up. She’d gotten the best sleep in weeks on her new bed, but disentangling herself from the warm covers proves to be a cruel form of torture. The alarm blares insistently, and she finally forces herself to stumble out of the bed. The noise turns off as soon as her feet hit the floor, and the room is slowly illuminated as the automatic lights gradually work themselves up to full brightness. Satine blinks blearily, and muscle memory takes over as she reacquaints herself with her old morning routines.

She sets up the caf to start brewing as she heads to the refresher for a shower. She’d already taken one last night, and the feel of hot water against her skin had been practically orgasmic. Satine promises herself this one will be quick and just practical, and she turns the water down to a cold setting to discourage staying too long. It works, she’s in and out as fast as humanely possible. She wraps a bathrobe around herself and runs back to the kitchen to help herself to the caf, although she’s not entirely sure she needs it after the brutal wake-up from the shower.

She sips on the caf as she heads back to her room to change. Her old clothes have all been provided, and she searches through the closet for something of a more simple design. Most of her dresses were rather ornate and handcrafted from expensive materials, but she wouldn’t feel comfortable wearing any of those elaborate gowns. For starters, and this is a minor consideration, she’s not sure Death Watch would respect any of the more extravagant finery, knowing their own tastes lean towards the austere. But more importantly, Satine knows that she would just feel like a child dressing up in a costume. She’s seen herself in the mirrors- even cleaned, with her hair brushed and grease-free, her body hasn’t forgotten her imprisonment. There are shadows under her eyes that even makeup can’t fully erase, she’s far thinner then she was, and the bones on her face are prominent.

Satine eventually settles on a light blue dress made of a material that glistens gold as the light hits it. It’s not something she’s worn in a long time- while elegant it’s also more subdued and less lavishly designed then her more courtly regalia. She slips into it, pulls back her hair into braid, and starts working on her makeup. She’s not a miracle worker- nothing could completely disguise the hollowness of her cheeks or erase the permanent tiredness from her eyes, but she does manage to give her skin an artificial glow, and thick eyeliner acts as a good distraction for the rest.

She pushes through the curtains to the living room to wait, and finds Maul already waiting for her. He’s standing with decent posture for once (Satine thinks this might be the first time she’s ever seen him stand up straight), and his hands are clasped behind his back. Maul's staring at the blue sculpture with an expression that, to Satine, looks to be part puzzlement and part horror; as if he's trying to comprehend how such an abomination could willfully be created. Satine admits it is vaguely hideous, and she’s not sure if the blue tendrils snaking up it are supposed to be tentacles.  

She approaches carefully, and she’s sure Maul’s aware of her presence, but he does nothing to acknowledge it. For some strange reason, this elicits more anger in her then anything else the Sith has done in the last few days. “You should’ve knocked,” she says sharply, not bothering to mask her annoyance.

Maul’s still staring at the sculpture quizzically, and he cocks his head. “What do you think this represents?” he asks.

The childish urge to stomp her feet on the ground and demand he look at her pops up briefly. It’s easily dismissed: even as a young girl, Satine was never one to throw tantrums. Instead, she sucks back her irritation, moving to stand beside Maul and examine the sculpture herself. It’s even more unsightly on closer inspection, mesmerizing in the same disturbing way a street-side accident is. “It represents the artist’s long battle with glitterstim,” she says dryly.  

“A dangerous drug,” Maul agrees.

Satine gives a wry smile. “Maybe it’s supposed to portray the human condition.” She glances at Maul and hastily amends, “or the Zabrak condition.” She supposes he’s technically part human anyway, being Dathomirian, but he doesn’t correct her.

Finally, Maul turns to her. “You’ll mostly be observing, today, I suspect. Are you ready, Duchess?”

It’s a loaded question, whether Maul intends it to be or not. She’s almost certainly not ready for a war council meeting, the purpose of which is against her own sister. Everything Satine has ever done has been in the service of peace, and the knowledge that she’ll now be participating in something that’s antithetical to all she believes in…she feels sick to her stomach, and she thinks her heart breaks a little. She’s betraying herself, betraying Mandalore. She can only hope this betrayal will be worth it.

She lets none of this dilemma show, but she’s sure Maul has no trouble sensing it through the force. She steels her resolve. “I’m ready.”  

Maul turns to move to the door, and as he does so there’s the _faintest_ mechanical whirring of his knee. He stiffens sharply, aware she’s noticed, and Satine is filled with the primal fear of a prey animal suddenly being cognizant they are in the same room as a predator. Maul turns to her slowly, and his eyes are burning, hateful orbs. This creature seems a stranger to the man from before.

“Your _lover_ did that to me,” Maul growls quietly.

A cold shiver runs down Satine’s spine. “I’m sorry,” she says truthfully. “It was barbaric, what he did.”

Maul isn’t impressed with her answer, but his hate is replaced by something more akin to disgust. “ _Barbaric_ ,” he repeats. “I suppose you wouldn’t have done the same, in his position?”

“I couldn’t do that to anybody,” Satine tells him.

“Then I would’ve killed you, _Duchess_ ,” he says, spitting out her title venomously. “Kill or be killed, it’s the nature of the world. I don’t expect you to understand.”

 _This is what war does to all of us_ Satine thinks. Even a noble man like Obi-Wan can become a monster in the heat of battle. She doesn’t dare share this thought aloud.  

Their journey to the council room is uncomfortably silent. It’s almost a relief when their arrival is heralded by the energetic hollers of Maul’s Mandalorians. There are about ten members of Death Watch, as well as Maul’s brother, sitting around a long, black marble table. At once, they stand as Maul enters. Satine observes that Almec seems to have been excluded from the discussions, as have the heads of the underworld cartels. She tucks away that bit of information, promising to reflect on its significance soon.

Of Death Watch, the only familiar face is Gar Saxon. His spiked helmet rests on the table in front of him, and Satine glances around at the other helmets noticing that he’s not the only Mando to have redecorated his armor in that way. Saxon meets her gaze, and something unreadable flashes through his eyes. Then, he focuses on Maul beside her, and a look of reverence settles over him.

“Mand’alore,” Saxon breathes, turning the title into a prayer.

Maul acknowledges him with a nod, and then addresses the standing Mandalorians. “Today we have a new ally joining us, the _former-_ ” (is it merely Satine’s imagination, or does he draw out that word far longer than necessary?) “- Duchess of Mandalore, Satine Kryze.” Maul turns to her, and gives a slight bow that seems more sardonic than anything else. “She’s agreed to provide her assistance in the effort against Bo-Katan and her forces.”  Satine is certain that this introduction was strictly for her benefit, Death Watch is barely reacting to what would otherwise be a fairly shocking new development.

Maul settles down into a seat beside Saxon, and gestures at any empty one to his left for Satine to sit at. She does, and the rest of Death Watch follow suit. The chair is made of a hard, cold metal, and she resists the urge to squirm uncomfortably. Satine also notices she’s in the unfortunate position of being next to Savage, and a low growl rumbles out of his throat as he catches her gaze.

Maul gestures to a female Mandalorian across the table, whose armor is a much deeper red then those of her brethren- almost purple. Her dark hair is worn short, and her features seem to have settled into a permanent scowl. “Rook Kast,” he murmurs to Satine. Louder, he says, “Show us what your scouts have discovered.”

Kast nods to Maul, and then glances towards Satine and her scowl deepens. She punches a few buttons on the underside of her gauntlet, and a blue-tinged holo sparks to life in the middle of the table.  To Satine’s eye, it appears to be troop movements across mountainous terrain.

“We think we’ve found Bo-Katan’s main base,” Kast says. “Or at least one of her major ones.”

This, at least, is news to the Mandalorians. Battle-hungry grins flash around the room, and even Savage lets out an approving growl.

“One of my scouts let me know about this base a month ago, and I’ve had her continue to monitor that area in case of any developments. It was a good location, but underpopulated at the time.” The holo shifts, quickly zooming forward in time as the amount of blue dots on the map spikes sharply. Rook continues, “In the last two weeks she observed massive troop movements around the area- and they’ve been moving small ships and heavy artillery in as well.” 

Satine eyes the room. Saxon is grinning like a madman, and he’s not alone. Bo-Katan’s uncovered base is clearly a tantalizing prospect, a fertile ground for bloodshed and violence.

“Airstrike,” a hard-faced Mando suggests. “Bomb ‘em to smithereens from the sky. Level the whole mountain too.”

“Not even too densely populated either,” another chimes in. This one’s an older woman, and her left cheek is marred by a massive scar that stretches up to an artificial eye. “Shouldn’t be too many civilian causalities. We can have Black Sun take some of their ships into orbit and launch the attack.”

This provokes a large response, and there’s a cacophony of raised voices. She picks out Saxon’s most clearly through the rest, as he mutters “-thought we were trying to not involve underworld.”

Finally, Maul speaks. “Enough,” he says, and though his voice is soft the whole room immediately quiets. He nods for Kast to continue.

“Airstrike would be nice and easy,” she admits. “But we’ve found evidence of underground sensors and shields. They’ve got themselves a whole fortified mountain here, and we’re not even completely sure of their entire capabilities. This is a good chance, but we’ve got to play it safe.”

“Safe?” Saxon scoffs.

“Yes, safe,” Kast snaps back at him. “We go blundering in there and bye-bye tactical advantage. They don’t know we know about this.” The holo splits into halves, each featuring a schematic sketch of different areas of the base. “We go in, two small teams. Extraction or assassination mission only. My scout says she saw Bo-Katan herself enter this base, and we have good reason to suspect she might be located there permanently. At the least, we’ve got some other high value targets that almost certainly are.”

“Bo-Katan would rather die than be captured,” Satine finds herself saying. Twelve pairs of eyes turn to her, and she finds her throat is suddenly dry. She forces herself to go on, “I wouldn’t be surprised if she had a way to self-destruct the entire facility, if necessary.”

“Kryze is right,” Kast agrees grudgingly. “So _stealth_ is the key here. In and out.” With a tap of her finger, the holo flickers off and attention returns to Maul.

“Kast and Savage will lead the first team, Saxon will lead the other. No more than three people per team.” Maul pauses. “I expect you’ll choose the remaining members wisely.” To Satine, the threat behind the words is explicit. Judging from the anticipation in Saxon and Kast’s eyes, they just see it as a challenge.  

“This will be glorious for Mandalore,” Maul tells them. “With Bo-Katan and her fellow rebel leaders captured and killed, there will be _nothing_ to stop us from destroying the rest of them. And _that_ will be a battle worthy of any Mandalorian. This world will be _ours_.”

Satine feels nauseas as Death Watch burst into loud cheers. Saxon, in particular has adopted an expression that is a mix of awed worship and hunger. It’s a look that’s still intimately familiar to Satine, even though it has been several years since she’s seen it worn on a man. A crude thought occurs to her, and she is unsuccessful at banishing it: she knows that under his armor, Saxon must be _achingly_ hard. It’s no secret the Death Watch lust for battle, but she’s disturbed to note that Saxon seem to take this literally.     

“Mandalore is within our grasp, brothers and sisters,” Maul says.

Satine finds herself forcing back a prayer. It would do little good: no gods of Mandalore would bother listening to her. This conflict would feed Kad Ha’rangir for years to come. She can only let herself hope for a swift end to it.

 


	4. Chapter 4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> warning for some crude language and violence courtesy of Saxon. This isn't a suuuuper long chapter (the next one should be a bit longer) but I'm excited to announce that the action is finally starting! Hope you enjoy, let me know your thoughts!

She’s having tea with Almec, of all people, when what’s _left_ of the mission to infiltrate Bo-Katan’s base make their return.

Almec and tea: not generally a happy combination, but for the sake of civility Satine decides not to comment on it. The tea has an undefinably citrus, exotic flavor and a slightly silver coloration, and she had found the taste to be quite enjoyable until Almec had informed her Black Sun had imported it as a gift to Maul.

Satine abruptly settles the cup down, and glowers at him. “So it was smuggled in illegally, and probably the result of slave labor.”

“Oh come now, Satine,” Almec chides. “That beautiful dress of yours is from Ryloth, isn’t it? You really think working conditions over there are any better than wherever Black Sun gets its tea leaves from?”

Satine flushes slightly, and lightweight fabric of her dress suddenly feels like it drapes heavily over her body. She had forgotten where it had come from until Almec reminded her, and he does have a point: when she had originally gotten it, she had given scarce thought to the Hutt’s famed exploitation of the Twi’leks and their homeworld.

Almec laughs. “Enjoy the tea, you might as well.” He winks at her and takes a deliberate sip of his own. “You know, this tea has gone through a great deal of hands. First it was a gift from Black Sun to Maul, then Maul gave it a gift to me, and now I’m giving it as a gift to you.” He grins brightly.

Satine eyes the tea. “Maul gave this to you as a gift?” she asks dubiously. She can’t quite picture Maul _giving_ anything to anyone without some sort of ulterior motive behind it.

“Oh yes,” Almec says easily. “He’s really not such a difficult man to work under, as long as you give him your loyalty.”

“Loyalty,” Satine repeats, still skeptical. “You expect me to believe _you’re_ loyal?”

Almec’s gaze sharpens, and he takes a long drink from his tea before responding. “I’m loyal to Mandalore, Satine. As I’ve always been. And I think you’ll find Maul is too.”

Satine shrugs, and then gives up and picks up the cup to sip at the tea. “Back to work?” she suggests.

“Indeed,” Almec agrees, rifling through the flimsiplast in front of them until he finds the one he’s searching for.

Satine settles back, and braces herself for a long conversation on taxes. As dull as she admits she finds the minutiae of tax law to be, it’s important for the people and she appreciates being given some legislative responsibility again. And Almec, for all his faults, has always been a competent administrator. It’s a lovely day for this too, she and Almec are sitting in an enclosed patio outside the palace, and feeling of sunlight warming her skin is beyond compare. A slight breeze flits through, disturbing the stack of flimsi much to Almec’s exasperation.

“So you’ll find the issue here concerns subsection three…-” Almec is suddenly interrupted by the hellish scream of jetpacks tearing through the sky and they both look up.

There’s only three Mandalorians and Satine desperately recounts, somehow sure she’s made a mistake. As they fly closer Satine is able to make out the distinctive armor belonging to Saxon, as well as Rook Kast’s purple armor. They’re dragging along the limp body of a third Mando between them. The party land not too far from the patio in amidst a cloud of black exhaust fumes, and Satine jumps to her feet to better observe. Kast almost immediately collapses as soon as she touches down, and Satine faintly hears Saxon shout for a medic.  

Alarmed, Satine moves for the door, but Almec grabs her arm. “What’re you doing?” he asks.

“Let me go, Almec,” she demands. “I need to find out what happened.”

He releases her, but shakes his head. “Why get more involved them you have to?”

“I gave them my word I would help them win this war, Almec,” Satine snaps. “I know it might be hard for you to understand, but promises still mean something to me.”

The insult barely fazes him, but Almec’s face twists slightly and it takes a second for Satine to recognize it as _concern_. “Satine….”

Satine’s voice softens a little as she replies. “Everything I do is for Mandalore. I have to believe it’s worth it.” Almec frowns, but she doesn’t wait for him to respond. She heads inside, and instructs the guard waiting for her to escort her to the medbay.

* * *

 

It’s a grim sight waiting for her. Rook Kast rests on a gray cot, her face pale and shimmery with sweat, and there’s an IV affixed to her arm. She looks smaller stripped her of her armor, and her stomach is crisscrossed with fresh bacta patches that a medical droid tends to. Saxon sits beside her, his own armor peeled off to reveal a dirty black bodysuit underneath. He clasps Kast’s hand as she chokes back a moan of pain as the droid prods at her ribs.

“Be strong, sister,” he murmurs to her, just barely loud enough for Satine to hear. Beside them is the third Mando Satine had seen, but this one seems to be ignored by the droids, despite what appears to be a nasty head injury that’s left her unconscious. She’s younger, with braided blond hair and a slender figure. It takes Satine a second longer of examination before she notices that her wrists and ankles are bound to the table.

Satine steps further into the room, her guard shadowing her every step. Kast notices her first, and almost immediately the woman’s agonized features harden into a hateful snarl. “This is all your bitch sister’s fault,” Kast wheezes. Her voice is hoarse and weak, but she manages to inject her words with venom.

“Enough, Kast,” Saxon says firmly. “You need to rest.” He stands and moves forward to approach Satine. Even without his armor he still cuts an intimidating figure, and Satine resists the urge to step back as he looms in front of her. “What do _you_ want?” he asks coolly.

“What happened?” Satine asks. “Where’s the rest of them?”

Saxon gives her a cruel smile. “We’re all that’s left, Duchess.” His gaze turns to the blond woman, and his calm composure disappears as he practically trembles with loathing. His gray eyes are cold and baleful, and they glitter with the promise of violence. “That cunt set us up.”

The pieces click together, and Satine follows his gaze to the woman. _The scout_ she thinks. Apparently feeding Death Watch misinformation to lure them into a fatal trap.  

The doors bang open, and a freezing energy rushes through the air. Saxon abruptly drops to his knees, and Satine turns as Maul stalks into the room. His face is tight with barely controlled fury and the medical equipment and machines shake and vibrate as he walks past them. Despite not being able to sense it, Satine knows that the force is raging like a maelstrom around him. Every molecule in her body seems to shudder under a dark power.

Maul barely seems to register her presence, and steps in front of Saxon and Kast. “ _Where…is…Savage?_ ” he snarls.

“Captured,” Kast croaks out. “The rest were killed. It was a trap, I’m sorry my lord.” Maul makes a fist, and her breath sputters out of her as she grabs at her throat. Saxon look at her in alarm for a second before quickly turning his attention back to the Sith.

“They knew we were coming. But we captured the scout…” Saxon trails off, and stares at Maul with an expression that’s half terror and half (unless Satine is imagining things) desire, as if the danger of being murdered for a wrong word excites him. “We think she could tell us how to find your brother, and Bo-Katan.”

He seems to have chosen the right words. Maul releases his fist, and Kast sucks in air and starts to cough. “I want her to talk _now_ ,” Maul hisses.

Saxon rises to his feet. “By your command, Manda’lore.” He gestures to the droid. “Get a stim for the prisoner, immediately!”

The medical droid injects the scout with a syringe filled with a toxic-looking green liquid, and almost immediately her eyes shoot open, pupils huge and dilated. She gasps in for air and her body jerks violently against the bonds holding her down. Saxon backhands her almost casually across the face, and she focuses on him and Maul and whimpers. “I’m sorry,” she whispers. “Bo-Katan discovered me. She threatened to kill me, kill my family.”

Satine’s heart clenches with a brief sympathy for the girl, but she knows the scout will find no such understanding reflected in Saxon or Maul.

“I don’t care,” Saxon says, and there is a cold, mocking humor in his voice. “I’ll kill your family myself if you don’t tell me where Bo-Katan is, and where she took Savage.”

“I don’t know,” the scout says, her voice breaking. She looks almost dazed with fear. “Please, I don’t know.”

“You know something,” Saxon says, almost gently. He presses a thumb against the wound in her head, and then pulls at the flap of skin. The scout screams, and he waits for her to quiet before doing it again. Satine feels vomit rise to the back of her throat, and she’s about to shout at Saxon to stop before the scout speaks.

“One of Bo-Katan’s officers,” she gasps. “I know where he’ll be. I overheard him talking about it. He has a small base in the desert on the outskirts of Sundari. I can give you the coordinates.”

“How do I know this isn’t another trap?” Saxon asks her.

“It’s not,” Maul says. “She’s telling the truth. Have her give you the coordinates, then kill her.”

The scout seems to summon a sudden bravery. “Why should I tell you if you’re just going to kill me?” she spits out.

“If you don’t,” Maul tells her quietly, “I will personally see to it that every member of your family, and every person you have ever loved is tortured to death.” The promise rings true, and the scout doesn’t seem to doubt him either.

Frantically, she recites a string of numbers and before Satine can think to stop him, _somehow_ , Saxon has blasted a hole through her heart.  

Saxon turns back to Maul. “Let me go. I’ll find your brother.” He pauses. “I’ll make it right, my lord, I swear it to you.”

Maul examines him. “You will come with me.”

Something Satine can’t recognize flashes through Saxon’s eyes. “It’s too dangerous, Manda’lore,” he says hesitantly. “We can’t afford anything happening to you.”

“Dangerous?” Maul seethes. “ _Bo-Katan decimated you, and took my brother_.” His eyes burn with yellow fire. “I will take care of this problem myself, as I should have long ago.” He turns around, and looks at Satine for the first time. “And you will come with us.”


	5. Chapter 5

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> this chapter came out pretty quickly! and it definitely makes up for the short length of the last one... It was really fun to write, I hope you all enjoy it! Hopefully it delivers on at least SOME of the action I've been promising... let me know your thoughts! Warnings: there is a glaring misunderstanding of how biology/body temperature probably works, sorry in advance.   
> Alsoooo I feel i should note that this chapter is pretty Saxon heavy, especially Satine&Saxon's interactions. There's definitely Maul&Satine for sure, but hopefully the next chapter will have more Maul!

Maul’s proclamation that Satine was to accompany him and Saxon was not, unsurprisingly, a universally popular one.

Saxon had been the first to react. His eyes were almost comically huge, and Satine would likely have found it hilarious in another context. “ _Her_?” he sputtered. “She’s not a warrior, she’s a _pacifist_. Let her and Almec play with legislation and politics, that’s their place. Not on a battlefield.”

Even Kast, fading in and out of consciousness on her cot had raised an objection. “My lord, you can’t mean it. She’s not a fighter; she’ll only be a hindrance. Give me a day, and I’ll be battle-ready again.” It had not been an especially convincing argument, Kast’s face was still pale and drawn, and in addition to a long wound slashing down her stomach she was also dealing with broken ribs- the result of a small rocket impacting with her breastplate. Even Saxon had rolled his eyes at her insistence she would somehow be fit for duty anytime soon.

Despite herself, Satine had found herself agreeing with Death Watch. She wasn’t a warrior, and the idea of having to use a blaster on another sentient being was almost unthinkable. “They’re right,” she told Maul. “I don’t know how you’d expect me to be any help. I’d only slow you down.”   

Maul was done entertaining their objections. “I will take no refusals,” he had told them, and the menace darkening his tone had ended any further complaint.

And so that had been that.

Haste was the word of the day. The Death Watch members stationed at the palace busied themselves getting supplies ready for the mission, and Satine herself had been instructed to meet Saxon in the armory. Either her guard had been lost in the confusion, or Maul trusted her enough to wander through the palace unescorted, because she was able to make her way down alone.

The armory itself was an interesting structure. Back during Satine’s rule, there had been no need for such room, but creating one had been one of Death Watch’s first priorities after they had taken control. Originally it had been a sealed safe room: buried in the lowest underground level of the palace and made from a combination of durasteel and cortosis, it was almost impenetrable from attack. Death Watch, of course, would have no use for a safe room. They would be disgusted by anyone who would choose to cower inside instead of fight. But their weapon and armor were more valuable to them then their lives, and those deserved to be kept somewhere that could withstand a missile attack.

The thick vault door had been left open for her arrival, and warily Satine steps through. Bright lights along the walls illuminate the room and its contents in harsh detail, and rows of shiny crimson armor are hung alongside sleek black rifles, blasters, and vibroblades.

In the center of the room is a metal table bolted to the ground, and it is littered with an expansive selection of weapons and armor. To the side of the table is Saxon, occupied with sharpening the horns on his helmet. Satine coughs lightly, and a muscle in his jaw works before he grudgingly sets down the helmet and blade on the table. Saxon’s put his armor back on, although from the extra dirt and bloodstains, he’s neglected to clean it before embarking on his new mission.

He looks at her unhappily, and Satine decides for all her dislike of this murderous, sadistic man, to extend an olive brand. It’s half necessity- if she’s going to be travelling with him and Maul to rescue Savage then her life will be in his hands, and better to start off on the right foot then the wrong one. It’s also half simple empathy: she knows he has valid reasons for not wanting her along and not trusting her- after all, it was her sister who killed his men and captured Maul’s brother.

“Saxon,” she starts. He grunts in acknowledgment, and she struggles with what to say next. “I understand why you don’t want me coming along. But Maul has made up his mind, and I want you to know I’m committed to this mission. I love my sister, but I disagree with everything she stands for. I’m on your side, and I want you to know that I’m willing to fight for your cause because it’s my cause as well.”

Saxon gives her a contemplative look, and she think it might be the first time she’s seen him give anything deep thought. “Would you be willing to kill her?” he asks bluntly.

Satine hesitates. “I hope it does not come to that,” she answers honestly.

Saxon snorts. “Yeah, that’s what I figured.” He shakes his head, and an expression of tiredness unfurls in the depths of his eyes. It’s a far cry from his usual cruel humor or anger, and it’s unsettling. “I trust you don’t want your sister to win, but love makes people do a lot of stuff they don’t necessarily think they will. At best, you’re a liability. You could get us killed, Duchess. If I die, I die a glorious death, but if Maul dies…Mandalore is lost.”

“You believe that?” Satine asks.

His voice hardens. “I know it. He dies and Bo-Katan takes over. That’s how it’ll go. She’d do this world no favors. Pre Vizsla was weak, and Maul freed us from him, but she refused to bow down because she didn’t want an _outsider_ as Manda’lore. Mandalore has always taken in outsiders. If they’re strong, they make us stronger. She would make this world _less_ then what Maul would.” Saxon takes the blade back up from the table and starts sharpening the horns of his helmet again. “So yeah, Duchess, I don’t want you along. But you’re here, and I have a feeling Maul wouldn’t be happy if I let you die.” With a frustrated sigh, he gives up on the helmet and pockets the blade.

He gestures to the armor on the table. “This is yours. Used to be the scout’s actually, but she doesn’t need it anymore.” He smirks, as if certain he’s made a hilarious joke. “She’s about your size, I think. I’ve got some spare pieces if something doesn’t fit exactly right though.” Saxon nods to a folded black bodysuit sitting on the edge of the table. “That’s yours too. If you want to change into that, I can help get you into the armor.”

Satine picks up the bodysuit, hoping it’s not also the scout’s. It appears to be new, and there’s no blaster-hole in it, both of which are promising signs. She glances down at it apprehensively. It’s made of a flexible material, probably slightly armored- perhaps enough to stop a metal knife. “Do you want me to go back to my room to change?” she asks.

“Maul wants us ready immediately,” Saxon replies. “Pick a corner.” His lips twist into a sneer at her discomfort. “Don’t flatter yourself, Duchess. I have no interest in you. But you’re as mad as your sister if you think I’m leaving you alone in a room full of weapons.”

“Turn around then,” Satine snaps.

With a glare, he obliges. His back turned to her, he warns, “if I hear _anything_ that sounds like you reaching for a weapon, I-”

“Enough,” Satine cuts him off. She’s already slipped out of her dress, and has begun the process of getting into the bodysuit. It’s a bit more involved than it looks. “You said it yourself, I’m a- oof- pacifist. I wouldn’t shoot you in the back.” She finally manages to get her whole body inside of it, and zips up the front to the top of the neck and tentatively does a few stretches to test it. It’s very easy to move it, and practically feels like a second skin.

Saxon turns around, and motions for her to come forward. He starts helping her with the armor, and finally offers her a red helmet that Satine accepts with trepidation. Feeling the solid weight of it in her hands- the symbol of Death Watch and the old Mandalorians, those who sung praise to Kad Ha’rangir and worshipped at the blood-stained altar of war Himself…she feels tainted by the touch. She reminds herself this does not erase her beliefs, or the peaceful civilization she once fought to build on the bones of a ravished world.

She traces the hard outlines of the helmet with a gloved hand and lets her fingers wander over its nicks and abrasions. The scout had added her own distinctive touch: a gold snake winds itself over the left half of the visor. The girl might’ve been raised a warrior, but she clearly had an artist’s touch because the snake is painted beautifully, and delicate scales have been carefully drawn in. Satine feels a pang in her heart for the dead girl; nothing she had done was motivated by malice, just a love for her family and a fear for her own life.  

“Here.” Satine turns at the sound, and feels Saxon thrust something into her hands. She looks down. It’s a flask if she’s not mistaken, and judging by the lightness a fairly depleted one. She eyes it suspiciously, but thinks to herself that this might be the first act of kindness she’s seen Saxon show her. Best not to make him regret it. Satine opens it, and the scent of an _especially_ corrosive “whiskey” almost makes her gag. She steels herself and downs what’s left in the container, closing her eyes and pretending she’s a girl again- splitting a bottle of something toxic with Bo.

She finishes it with a wince, and to her satisfaction Saxon looks mildly impressed. He takes the flask back and shakes it. “Didn’t leave me any,” he complains.

“You’d barely left _me_ any,” she laughs, and he offers a wide grin. The alcohol was strong, and there’s already a warmth settling into her belly, and a heady buzz in her head. Satine wonders if this is how it is for Death Watch when they aren’t committing acts of destruction: sharing drinks and war stories with a laugh.

The moment doesn’t last long. Saxon’s communicator pings, and he puts away the flask. “Maul wants us in the medbay,” he informs her. 

* * *

 

Kast is propped upright and conversing quietly with Maul when they arrive. A slightly healthier color appears to be returning to her cheeks, but the lines of worry digging into her features distract from her improved complexion.

“-you have to,” Maul is telling her. “It’s an order, not a choice. And there’s nobody else left I would trust more.”

Kast starts to say something, but Satine and Saxon’s approach gives her pause. She shakes her head. “I’m honored, my lord,” she finally murmurs to him.

“As you should be,” Maul says, smirking slightly. He turns to fully face Satine and Saxon, and looks at her armor approvingly. “I would almost mistake you for a warrior, Duchess,” he says, and Satine flinches. Maul stares at her for a second, his gaze sharp and calculating. His eyes are as golden as the serpent on her helmet.

“My lord,” Saxon interrupts, mercifully breaking the tense moment. Maul turns his yellow gaze to Saxon instead, and the Mandalorian flushes under the Sith’s regard. “We’re ready to depart whenever you are. My second has let me know that the air speeder has been equipped with the coordinates. They hooked up an ion drive to that thing, shouldn’t take more than a few hours to get close.” 

Maul nods in approval. “Very good, Saxon.” He glances down at Kast and says, “I will have Bo-Katan’s severed head on a spike and free you from the burden of leadership soon, commander.”

Kast offers him a miserable look. “May the force ever serve you, Manda’lore.” 

* * *

 

 

Their journey flies by in relative silence. Saxon makes a half-hearted attempt to engage Maul in conversation, but the Sith possesses a deadly stillness. He closes his eyes and appears to meditate, except instead of becoming more relaxed, as Obi-Wan would teach, Maul’s body starts to tremble slightly with a barely contained energy.

Their speeder chases the sun across the horizon, but isn’t quite fast enough- the sky blossoms with a kaleidoscope of reds and oranges as sunset catches up to them, and then finally fades into the star-speckled blue of dusk.

They slow, and Saxon parks their speeder near a large boulder. Outside the speeder the desert air is chill, and Satine follows Saxon’s suit in putting on her helmet. The feeling of it pressing against her head is almost claustrophobic, and she focuses on the visor to distract herself. There’s an infrared setting, and Satine lets herself look around the landscape, watching as hidden red bursts of heat scuttle around under the sand. She unholsters the blaster on her hip, and holds it awkwardly, her fingers far from the trigger. Leaving it untouched seems like an insane thing to do right before being dragged into battle, but she’s not sure she could summon the resolve to actually fire it.

Maul stalks forward and closes his eyes, inhaling deeply. “I sense them,” he growls, igniting his twin blades. It’s the first time Satine’s seen them activated, and even she has to admit they’re an impressive sight. The darksaber fits in Maul’s hand much better than it ever did in Pre Vizsla’s, and its length is as black as the void. His Sith weapon is the red of freshly-spilt blood, and it shines with a wicked glow. For instruments of death, they’re hypnotizing, and Satine suspects they’ve likely been featured in more than one of Saxon’s nighttime fantasies. Her mind is abruptly filled with mental images she could’ve happily gone a lifetime without contemplating, and she curses her imagination.

“I see some heat signatures about a mile off,” Saxon is saying. “Would need to get closer to distinguish them though. I think they’ve made a fire.”

Maul nods, and after a second of perhaps considering throwing caution to the wind and wreaking havoc single-handedly, deactivates his blades. “We’ll be quiet and move slowly,” he decides. “We need to keep our heat signatures to a minimum so they don’t see us coming. Set your armor to cooling, and I can use the force to slow down your heartbeats, but that will take concentration. And I warn you, it will be _unpleasant_ for you both.”

Saxon agrees about as readily as Satine assumed he might, and she decides not to say anything herself. It doesn’t exactly feel like a choice, although nothing Maul says is ever really open for discussion. At best, he humors disputes, but Satine has a feeling he’d hardly be receptive now. She can practically sense his bloodlust growing; he has taken his anger over his brother’s capture, and his desperation to find him, and he has transformed that into a searing ferocity. He practically vibrates with rage.

Saxon takes her wrist and taps in the command for her armor to cool. There’s a faint chill against her body, but _then…._ She feels an unnatural cold crawl along her skin, and her lungs and heart seem to be _tugged_. She gasps and resists the primal urge to clutch at her chest. Her breathing slows, and her blood feels like it’s ice running through her veins.

Maul leads their march through the hard-packed sand and sparse, spindly vegetation. It’s a slow trek, her pace is lethargic and her head buzzes with every step forward. She’s heartened to notice that Saxon seems to be struggling too.  Finally they reach an outcrop of rocks not far from the fire, and Satine sees two Mando’s warming their hands over it. Shadows move around the entrance of a crudely erected tent not far from the fire- a third.

Maul’s gaze roams over the scene with the hungry intensity of a starved akk dog. He’s been ready for this fight for hours, and Satine can see how he struggles to restrain himself from staying put. “The one in the tent,” he finally says, and his soft accent has been replaced by a harsh growl. “That’s the one. The leader. I can _sense_ his power over the others, in the backs of their minds.” He reaches down to grip his weapons, and his knuckles pale and he squeezes down. “I will go after him. Saxon, you handle the other two.” Maul drags his gaze away from the tent to stare at Satine. “Stay close to Saxon,” he tells her. “But not _too_ close.”

Suddenly, the phantom weight on her chest is released, and Maul disappears, flitting through the sand like a wraith. Saxon bolts up, and ignites his jetpack, bursting towards the men by the fire like a human rocket. The embers scatter everywhere, and in the confusion Saxon shoots twice in quick succession, hitting one man in the leg and the other on the side of the arm. The one hit in the leg goes down, and Saxon deals him two brutal kicks, one to the neck and one to the gut.

The tent lights up with a flurry of black and red lights and Satine hears the sounds of blasterfire and alarmed shouts.

She races towards Saxon as his fight intensifies. The man still standing is holding his ground, and he ducks and runs himself helmet-first into Saxon’s chest. Saxon stumbles back, and the other Mando takes the opportunity to smack his blaster out of his hand, and deliver a kick to his knee. Saxon roars in anger, and there is a flash of silver in his hand. He dives at the Mando, knocking him to the ground and in a quick motion yanks back his head to expose his neck and slashes at it. A spray of blood explodes over Saxon’s armor, and Satine hears him laugh manically. Her own hands tremble around her blaster, and she feels frozen witnessing the scene before her.

She sees motion to her left- the second Mando from before, slowly picking himself up from where Saxon had left him. He unholsters his blaster and aims it towards Saxon, who is still crouched over the corpse of the first Mando. In an instant Satine makes a decision she knows will define her more than any almost any other- and she raises her blaster and fires.

Saxon whips around at the sound, and together both of them watch in mute disbelief as the Mando collapses bonelessly: a marionette with his strings cut.  

Satine races towards him, pulling off her helmet and throwing it to the side. She falls on her knees beside her victim, and desperately feels for a pulse she knows won’t be there. She feels tears prickling at her eyes, and her hearts hammers loud in her chest.

She sees Maul approach, and she _knows_ , on an almost instinctual level that he has killed the other man and taken from him the information he desired. All these death are payment to Kad Ha’rangir, she thinks hysterically, blood and flesh and bone sacrificed to the god of war in exchange for the knowledge Maul sought.

“Stand,” Saxon tells her. His voice is hard and unsympathetic. “You killed a man, now _get up_ and help me bury him before the scavengers come.”

She cannot. Her legs are as heavy as stones, she couldn’t lift herself if she tried.

There is a hand on her shoulder, startlingly gentle. Satine twists around her head, expecting Saxon, but instead it is _Maul._ He smells like gristle and burning skin, but he kneels beside her, and there’s something undiscernible in his eyes as he holds her gaze. “You must be strong, Satine,” he murmurs.

It is the first time she has ever heard him say her name. The shock of it- and how strange it sounds in his voice, propels her up.

“Tend to the fire,” Maul tells her. “Make sure it continues to burn. Saxon and I will take care of the rest.” 

* * *

 

The fire crackles and burns unenthusiastically when they return, and Satine prods at it with a stick. The low heat of it is welcome, and she imagines it is burning away her crime. She’s a pacifist, a politician, not a _killer_. But if she hadn’t pulled the trigger, it would be Saxon’s corpse weighing on her conscience instead. She took a life, but she also _saved_ a life with her action and surely, is that not equally important? She looks up as Saxon and Maul approach. And what a life she saved: the fiercest, most vicious of Death Watch. A man too delighted by the violence he had inflicted to notice the soldier about to murder him.

The two both sit beside her, and Saxon grabs at her stick to poke the fire himself. For a second she’s horrified- is he a pyromaniac in addition to a sadist?- but gradually the fire begins to burn brighter and hotter. “You almost let it burn out,” he scolds her.

She shrugs.

He pauses, and offers a crooked smile. “I’ve saved it.”

There’s a long stretch of silence, and then Maul shifts, suddenly alert. Saxon glances over at him. “What’s wrong, Manda’lore?”

“I sense something in the distance,” Maul hisses. He rises, and pulls the darksaber into his outstretched hand. “Wait here. I’ll be back.”

Saxon leaps to his feet. “Let me accompany you,” he pleads.

Maul scoffs. “You’re forgetting who I am, _Saxon_ ,” he tells the other man, his words dripping with quiet menace. “Stay with Satine.”

Saxon’s eyes narrow, and he sits back down sullenly. Maul scans the darkness beyond, and heads west, following the direction of the burning snake constellation. It’s not long before he’s lost to the night.

Saxon stares anxiously into the distance, and what seems to be _concern_ flashes through his eyes. Satine wonders if it’s concern that he might miss an opportunity for more bloodshed…but it doesn’t look like that. Strange as it is, she thinks he might be concerned for Maul himself.

And then Satine thinks: o _h_. Abruptly, she feels like a complete fool. The signs had practically been screaming in her face, but she’d just assumed…. All this time, thinking Saxon lusted for _battle._ All this time, thinking that Saxon was merely aroused by the violence and chaos Maul ushered in. And perhaps that’s _part_ of it, but…

“You’re in love with him,” Satine says.

Saxon rears back as if she’s slapped him. He looks shocked for a second, but almost immediately his eyes fill with an immense loathing. “So what?” he snarls. “Who wouldn’t be? He’s perfect, practically a god compared to most.” The words have started to tumble out, and Saxon stops himself suddenly, and his eyes shine with dread. Satine wonders if this is the first time he’s ever admitted it aloud.

“Does Maul know?” she asks gently. Unsurprisingly, her attempt at compassion is rewarded only with a scowl.

“I’m sure,” Saxon snaps, as if that is a profoundly stupid question. “He has the force, he can _sense_ it.”

“But you’ve never told him?”

“Of course not. He knows, and it doesn’t matter anyway-” Saxon pauses, and his lip twists in frustration. He runs a hand through his blond hair, and his expression seems to deflate a little. Illuminated by the glow of the campfire, with the low light smoothing away his scars and softening the cruel slant of his mouth, Satine thinks this might be the first time she’s really seen him as a man, not just another member of Death Watch. He looks strangely vulnerable in this moment, and Satine thinks he might even be handsome.

She waits for him to continue, and finally he does. “I’m not sure he can feel that way about anyone, not really, not completely.” He shrugs. “And I’m not sure how advanced his prosthetics are, but I don’t even know if he’s _capable_ of-”

“I…think I get the picture,” Satine says. She looks at Saxon, and suddenly feels a rush of sympathy for the man. She wishes she could say something, but she knows any pity would only disgust him. Instead, she stretches out a hand to briefly clasp his shoulder.       

After a long pause, he looks at her. “You did save me today, Duchess. You’re my sister-in-arms now whether you want to be or not.”

Despite the fact that it was only through murder that Satine received that dubious honor, she does have to admit she takes some comfort in it. She settles back and lets the fire warm her as they wait for Maul’s return.  


	6. Chapter 6

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> soooooo long time! sorry about that! it's been a hectic past few months, which have made it pretty hard to sit down and commit to writing much more then one-off Star Trek smut here and there. anywho, this is the conclusion to "part 1" of this story- I spent a while trying to think about how I wanted to write this chapter and I'm not 100% with how it turned out, but I am excited for what comes next (see end notes for some detailsss on that)

When Bo-Katan was born, she almost killed their mother. Satine remembers the wretched, agonized wails that not even the soothing midwife droid or the expensive drugs could calm, and the bright blood that puddled between her mother’s legs. They say Bo tore their mother almost in two when she came out, and it was not much of an exaggeration- when Bo-Katan finally emerged she was glistening red and howling at the light, kicking furiously at the droid that tried to clean her.

As long as Satine has known her sister, Bo has gulped up life with the passion of a drowning man finally getting a taste of air. She’d bled and killed and fought so readily for Mandalore that at times Satine thought of her as immortal- Bo was always so thirsty for battle, and somehow always untouched by it, as if War itself had chosen her as its champion.

Maul and Saxon are both too arrogant to see what she sees; Maul is too assured in his own martial prowess to give any opponent his full attention, and Saxon is too emboldened by Maul- he worships the Sith with the blind faith of the devout. Their world is filtered through their pride, and nothing she says will change that. But Satine has had her pride broken, and ground into nothing. She is thankful for her imprisonment in a way, for she sees the world so much more clearly now- without artifice or clouded judgement.

And what she sees is this: Bo-Katan has lived her life in service to war. She is its lover, its solider, its child. And perhaps her defeat is inevitable- but if it is, Satine knows her sister will rage and rail against that inevitability with every fiber of her being. If Bo-Katan is to die, she will not die alone. 

* * *

 

They travel for three days by foot through the bone-white desert, surviving on small animals and supplies taken from the camp they had captured. Saxon proves to be a surprisingly pleasant companion- endlessly talkative and good-humored, though his ideas on what constitutes a joke are often in poor taste. The rough terrain and long days spent walking don’t faze him in the slightest- he seems to thrive solely on anticipation for the coming battle. Violence is his sustenance- Satine wonders what horrors he might’ve inflicted on the galaxy if his malice had, by some cruel twist of fate, been wedded to the dark abilities Maul has at his disposal. Even force-blind, Gar Saxon is well on his way at becoming a warlord; Satine shudders to think what could’ve been if he’d been born a Sith.

The days are long, and aside from listening to Saxon’s endless war stories, there is little for Satine to do except get lost among her thoughts. So, she allows herself the luxury of wondering at the person Maul might’ve been, had he been spared the trauma of his Master. She knows relatively little about his upbringing, but she has gleaned enough to suspect it was an unpleasant one. Satine admits that she has come to respect him as a man of singular focus and determination. What form would those traits have taken, if Maul had been raised in a way that also nurtured his sense of honor, and even the rare consideration Satine occasionally glimpses? It is a pity she cannot turn back time and undo the past. But Satine suspects that one thing would always be a constant in any reality: Maul is born to lead. She’s not oblivious to how quickly he earned the devotion of Death Watch, and even the genuine loyalty of Almec, a man self-serving enough to make a snake blush. Satine acknowledges, grudgingly, that she herself is not immune to it: she’s not exactly voyaging through a sun-bleached, waterless _graveyard_ of a desert for her own personal pleasure. Like it or not, the truth is evident to her: Maul was destined to rule worlds. And here she is: delivering up her own planet to him, and she’s alarmed that she can’t muster up even the stirrings of disgust at that. Satine wills away her errant thoughts, and raises her gaze to the horizon. Dry sand and withered plants spread as far as the eye can see, and eerie shadows stretch unnaturally as the sun begins its descent. Buried in the sand is the skeleton of small reptile, and she stumbles over it, her armored foot crushing through its skull. 

* * *

 

They come to Bo-Katan’s hideout a little after dusk, camping out on the edge of sensor range. Her bones feel weary, her muscles trembling slightly from the continued exertion and heat that even her armor hadn’t been able to completely counteract.

Her and Saxon start a small fire, and Maul watches quietly a few yards back, his yellow eyes glinting vigilantly in the dark like a tiger’s. She takes her helmet off, relishing the feeling of a cold breeze against her skin.

Saxon, his own helmet also resting against the ground smirks at her. “You’re seeing what it’s like to be one of us, Duchess. Not so bad on the other side, yeah?”

Satine can’t help the scowl that instinctively tugs up at her lip. Saxon smiles tolerantly, likely finding the display of aggression more endearing then intimidating. He brushes a hand through her blond braid, and her skin crawls at his nearness- the sound of his delighted laughter as he slit the other Mando’s throat still echoes through her mind.  

“You come from a warrior’s bloodline,” he tells her, his grey eyes shining with something that’s close to fondness. “Politics, wordplay, empty scheming- all that is bullshit, unworthy of you. But _this_ is your birthright, little sister.” That word sends a pang through her heart, but it sounds more natural in Saxon’s cruelly accented voice then she’d ever admit. “Make your ancestors proud tonight,” he says as softly as Satine thinks he’s capable of.

Satine accepts his offer of kinship silently, reluctantly. She wonders if Saxon ever spoke with Bo with the same familiarity he does with her now- wonders if he ever held any love in his heart for his old sister-in-arms, the woman he prepares to kill. She asks him as much, and he leers.

“Nah, your sister was an uptight bitch. Only got soft around Vizsla, but that was because she was taking his cock whenever she got the chance.” Despite the casual crudeness, Saxon’s eyes are sharp- carefully trained on Satine’s, ready to note any reaction. She promises herself she won’t offer any. She tries not to take it personally; this is just in Saxon’s nature- he’s a predator, he can’t help but probe and press for weakness. “I did fuck her a few times though,” he says after a short silence, as if an afterthought. “But so did Rook, so it wasn’t like that was anything special in and of itself. Shared her with Rook once, and the taste of your sister on Rook’s lips-”

“Enough, Saxon,” Maul calls out, his voice soft but dripping with menacing command. His timing is impeccable, for all her attempts at restraint, Satine had been a millisecond away from slapping Saxon across the face. Satine doubts it was luck- she’s certain Maul had been watching the tension build in her through the force, waiting until it was at near critical mass before intervening. She almost resents the interruption- she’s been itching for an excuse to slap Saxon since she first met him. Saxon turns to Maul with the self-satisfied smile of a cat that’s recently feasted on the family bird.

“Go map out the base,” Maul directs the other man. “Come back when you’ve located the most secure entry point.”

With a wide grin, Saxon obeys.

The fire seems to dwindle a little in his absence. The embers flare lowly, and Satine prods at them, attempting to coax back up more of a flame. Maul moves to sit beside her, watching her progress without any motion to help. His gaze goes to the burning coals, and the fire reflects in his golden eyes, lending him a demonic cast. Maul’s eyes are alight with dancing flames, and the shadows play across his tattoos until they seem to be moving across his face like liquid. He doesn’t look like any flesh-and-blood creature she’s ever seen before; he looks like an incarnation of War Himself, shaped from obsidian and flames.

His voice is languid and unconcerned. “He’s trying to provoke you, you know.”

“I know,” Satine replies. “I’m no fool. These are children’s games. He wants to tempt a display of violence out of me, and I don’t even think it’s malicious. It’s only logical, to him. He’s a warrior, and he wants to make me one as well.” She leans back, meeting Maul’s gaze. A glimmer of approval flashes through his eyes.

“The only thing I can’t quite figure out,” she says slowly, “is what you want. I still don’t know why you brought me here, instead of another soldier.”

Maul doesn’t answer, not that Satine expected him to. There is a long pause, and Maul finally speaks. “And what about what _you_ want, Duchess?”

“Peace,” Satine whispers. “Warrior, politician, that’s not important to me anymore. I just want Mandalore united. I want my people spared endless violence.”

“You will have that,” Maul promises. “Force serving, this conflict will soon be at an end. There is just one price to pay first.”

Tears spring into Satine’s eyes, surprising her. She thinks of the warmth of Bo as they had nestled together after a childhood heartbreak, the shared laughter as they played in the rain, the fond memories mingled in with uglier ones- but both equally precious to her.

“I did not say it was an easy price to pay,” Maul says, and there is a very subtle softness to his voice that might carry a note of tenderness. “But sometimes, the most painful sacrifices are required for the things we want the most.” Sith wisdom, at its core. Maul falls silent.  

Satine releases a breath. “I am willing,” she says quietly. “We will bring peace.” She glances back at Maul. “And save your brother.”

Maul’s eyes burn with anger, and his fist clenches. The lingering fire abruptly dies, and any trace of warmth is leeched from the air. “She will pay dearly for that,” he murmurs.       

* * *

 

In the end, the resistance they encounter in Bo’s facility is little match for Saxon and Maul’s combined strength. They work in tandem with a vicious grace, Saxon laying down covering fire as Maul explodes into violent action, his blades tearing through weapons and bodies as if they were nothing.

Bo’s people are fearsome opponents in packs, and in the air, but one-on-one in narrow hallways they pose little challenge. Their numbers have been depleted by Death Watch’s continued raids, and the force stationed at this base cannot defeat a Sith.

But as they cut their way through to the center of the compound- where according to Maul, Savage and Bo-Katan both wait- a gnawing dread grows inside of Satine. There is the nagging sensation that something is wrong, a cold discomfort that snakes down her stomach.

Maul closes his eyes, his face twisting as he peers through the force. “I sense Savage’s distress,” he hisses. “His _pain_.” He shudders with barely restrained fury, and Satine sees the exact moment where he hardens it into resolve. “It will fuel my hatred.”

At the end of the hallway there are two guards posted in front of a thick durosteel door. With a shout, the guards run at them, and Maul throws out an arm to catch Saxon before he launches himself into the fray.

Maul’s face is pure concentration, but his eyes still seem to shine with flames. With a shout of rage, he _shoves_ and there is a colossal boom as the guards are flung backwards like ragdolls, and smash into the door the same instant the door itself crumples inwards. Maul stalks forward, delivering another violent shove, and with a whine of tearing metal there is an opening where the door used to be.

Inside, Bo-Katan stands straight-backed and unflinching. Her uncovered face twists in a hateful snarl, and there is a gun in each hand- one points towards Maul, and the other points at Savage’s prone body.

Saxon aims his own blaster at Bo just as Maul’s gaze flickers to his brother. Satine follows suit- Savage lies drugged and bound on a black table not quite long enough or wide enough to accommodate his massive bulk. Perhaps sensing Maul through the force, his eyes drift open and he rumbles out a low, broken growl.

“ _Savage_ ,” Maul murmurs, and his muscles spasm with the effort of forcing himself not to go to his brother.  

“You can’t win,” Bo hisses. “You kill me, and you lose your brother, and you also lose your fucking planet. _Everything_ you have built, I will take from you in death.” The icy snake of dread tightens at that proclamation, and Satine wants to scream for everyone to just _stop._

But she is surrounded by three creatures who want nothing but bloodshed. She sees the inevitable approaching, as clearly as if she had a vision in the force. She is frozen with dread and despair, helpless to stop what is coming.

With an animalistic snarl, Maul snaps his wrist out and there is a loud hum and the smell of ozone, and for a second Satine can’t comprehend what’s happening. Then she looks down at the black blade purring against her throat, and she _understands_. This was always her purpose, her reason for being here. She’s always been Maul’s pawn, a piece in his game. And now, he moves her.

She’s there because she’s Bo’s weakness, and even as the rationalist in her applauds Maul’s cunning, the sharp dread inside of her dulls into despair at this betrayal.

Bo-Katan freezes, eyes widening. Her lips part, and her body twitches. She is too disciplined a soldier to be goaded into reckless action, but she does move, just a little.

It is enough.

There is a blur of motion and light and Bo’s body tumbles gracelessly to the ground, and what was once her sister is only a corpse, already growing pale with death.

Bo-Katan was born into the world already fighting, kicking and screaming since she drew her first breath of air. It does not feel _right_ that she left the world with barely a sound.  

The silence that follows seems to last a millennia, and it pounds through her ears with a numbing intensity. And then, Satine’s head still ringing, Maul reaches out a hand to her, as if he has done this all for her.

Satine thinks:

_I was wrong._

_He’s not a god, not War Itself. Just a servant of War, killing in It’s name._

_I am War._

She blinks, and the deranged moment of insanity passes, and Satine remembers that Maul kills for no cause but his own. He might not be Kad Ha’rangir, but he would certainly laugh in the face of any god or man who demanded he pay tribute.

If there was a god of War, it was surely Bo-Katan. And Maul has slain Her as easily as he would any other. The body before them is testament enough to Bo’s mortality.  

* * *

 

Its days before she can even let herself _think_ of Maul. In that time her nightmares of bright-eyed demons, ink running down their faces like living tattoos, have returned in full-force. During the day, she mourns. Satine doesn’t grieve Bo-Katan’s death as much as she expected she would; she thinks in a way she’s already done her grieving for the girl who long ago was her sister. The frenzied, war-worshipping terrorist she had become no longer resembled anyone Satine had ever loved.

It’s the betrayal that still stings, cutting her deeply until she doesn’t think she can bear it any longer.

After four days in self-imposed solitary confinement, Maul comes to her. He wanders around her room as he always does, sprawling himself across furniture as if it all belongs to him. Bitterly, Satine supposes it does. Without Bo-Katan, he’s the uncontested ruler of Mandalore now. The king of a world, with Almec as his puppet, Saxon and Kast as his generals, and an army of thugs and terrorists and criminals to command.

And her….

She glares down at Maul, hating him. She thinks she understands something of the allure of the dark side- hatred is certainly an intoxicating emotion, it burns through her, pushing away everything else including her grief and sorrow. She knows Maul can sense it, and she’s glad for this.

“I won’t apologize,” he tells her.

“Why would you?” Satine retorts. “You got everything you wanted. Your world, your brother, your revenge.”

“Revenge…” Maul hums. “Revenge is endless. Self-replenishing.”

“Do you regret anything?” she snarls, startled by her own anger. “You _used_ me. I was already with you, you should’ve just _told_ me what you had planned.”

“Would it have been believable, if you had known?” Maul asks sharply.

He has a point, she supposes. But she shrugs it away, still riding the high of her anger. “It’s your nature to use. We all just exist for your consumption and disposal. You used me, and you use Saxon, when you know he’s in love with you.” Maul blinks at this as if in surprise, and his eyes narrow.

“Do you know the Sith code?” he asks her suddenly, rising up and approaching Satine until he is unnervingly close. At her silence, he continues, “ _through victory, my chains are broken._ You said you were willing to do whatever it took for _peace_. I, too, would do anything for my victory.” He pauses, and his face twists a little. “You have proved yourself…someone I respect, Satine.”

At the sound of her name, her hatred and anger drain away until she is left simply feeling hollow. “You are who you are,” she says quietly.

Maul’s eyes glow, and he tilts his head slightly, examining her. “Stay with me,” he requests. “I am a man of my word; I promised you the power to keep your people safe.” He frowns into the distance. “You served me with strength and honor; you deserve to be rewarded for that. Help me rule this world, these people.” He holds out his hand to her, locks his gaze onto hers.

For a long moment she does nothing. Then, she takes his hand. “It would be my privilege,” she tells him.

His eyes brighten with satisfaction, and then darken as he releases her hand. “Good,” he mutters. “Because we’ll need to be prepared for what comes next.”

That cold snake has returned, and it uncoils itself in her stomach. “What comes next?”

“A coded transmission was sent out when Bo-Katan died. To whom, I don’t know. But I suspect we’ll find out soon.” He looks at her with a cold, wry amusement. “May the force serve us well.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> uhhhhh so yea Bo-Katan is ded, i made everyone i could bi, and it only took me like 5 months! although im pretty terrible at roadmaps, I know for sure that Ventress will be in this, which I am super excited about, and Obi-Wan's presence will start to be felt a lot more. gonna see Maul get his house in order before shit hits the fan so that'll be fun. and i accept any input! anything you wanna see? don't wanna see? lemme know! thanks so much for reading, and for all of your patience :)


	7. Chapter 7

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> this chapter was super fun to write! And in honor of my bisexual agenda, I decided to make Satine bi as well! Anyhow, hope you enjoy watching Saxon get into fights, Savage being unhelpful, and Satine feeling like an overstressed mom!

Under an invisible shroud of crime and tentative alliances, Mandalore prospers.

Satine had long dreamed of the day when her world would know peace and unity again, but in her dreams Death Watch was a distant memory and the only thing she needed to be true to was her own integrity. She never could’ve imagined her planet unified on the edge of a Sith’s blade, or the crucial role Saxon and his ilk would have in maintaining that hard-won order. She certainly never would’ve imagined how drastically changed her own role would be: from Duchess to prisoner to reluctant soldier and now to politician again.

The life she took still haunts her; in the last few months there’s been more times then she’d like to admit where she’s woken up in a cold sweat, the phantom smell of burned flesh and death lingering in her nostrils. She does not think she will ever forget, but she has managed to forgive herself. Her action was…a necessary evil; a concept Satine has unwillingly become more comfortable with as of late.

Satine raises her gaze to the clear night sky above. Stars twinkle coldly down at her, and a ring of bloated silver ships hang in the upper atmosphere like diseased fruit from a tree. Satine still has no love for the criminals and thugs Maul parlays with. But she does understand their purpose, and the importance of maintaining relations with them. It is another necessary evil.

She tells herself she doesn’t have to like it, but that does little to ease the knot of discomfort in the pit of her stomach. Tonight will be the first time she’ll venture into the dens of depravity and criminality that are hosted by the ships above her. She hopes it’ll be the last, however empty that hope is.

With a resigned sigh, she turns to face the rest of her group. Accompanying her is Almec, Savage, Saxon and two red-armored Mando’s of his choosing. Despite the fact that this visit is a fairly standard negotiation, Maul insisted of having his apprentice and his second-in-command escort her and Almec as a show of strength. It’s not particularly subtle, Satine supposes, but it does communicate Maul’s presence well enough.

Almec smiles at her, in what she thinks is meant to be a comforting way. Worn on any other face, perhaps it would be, but Satine simply finds it insincere. He’s dressed sharply in a deep purple suit, and his fingers are adorned with heavy golden rings. Satine dressed up for the occasion as well: her own dress is made of a pale green snakeskin material, and it hugs her figure shamelessly. Rubies hang from her ears, and a diamond necklace shimmers against the hollow of her throat. In truth, Satine finds the outfit to be gaudy and uncomfortably revealing, but that’s sort of the _point_. Displays of wealth and luxury are attractive to the crime lords, and in some ways they command more respect than a show of brute force strength would. Still, Satine cannot help but envy Death Watch and Savage: no one alive would dare give _them_ a hard time about their outfits.   

As they wait for their boarding shuttle to arrive, Satine spares a quick glance at Savage. Easily the most intimidating member of their party, the Dathomirian warrior dwarfs her by a good foot. A faintly earthy scent clings to him, he smells like pine needle sap and wet clay: if Satine closes her eyes she can almost imagine the dark, ancient forests of his home. He seems to sense her watching him, and he turns to her warily, letting out a dissatisfied growl.

“Have you been up there?” Satine asks him, gesturing to the cruisers that are their destination.

She’s rewarded with only silence. Savage stares as if looking through her, and his eyes shine in the starlight, his gaze brighter than his brother’s. 

From beside them, Saxon rasps out a laugh, the sound made cold and mechanical by the vocalizers in his helmet. “Good luck trying to get him to talk, Duchess. The only time I’ve heard him make a noise is when he’s killing something.” He pauses a little. “Excluding growling.”

Savage shifts his gaze to Saxon and offers a chilling death glare that is met with a chortle. Satine wonders if Saxon is too fearless for his own good, or simply assured enough in his importance to Maul that he knows he can get away with goading the Sith’s brother.

The boarding shuttle finally makes its appearance, and the scrawny Rodian piloting it waves them in. Almec enters first, Death Watch following on his heels. Satine lingers back with Savage.

“He never seems to stop talking, though,” she says lightly, nodding in Saxon’s direction.

The ghost of a smile flickers briefly around the corners of Savage’s lips. Satine cranes her head up to get a better look at the unexpected sight, but whatever trace of humor she glimpsed is gone by the time she does. But to her surprise, Savage replies. His voice is deep and gravely, as if his words are being pushed out with slow precision. “It is the affliction of the foolish.”

The ship rumbles impatiently, and Savage turns to her. “No more stalling, Duchess.”

 

* * *

 

The inside of Black Sun’s cruiser is filled with more opulence and open debauchery then she’d prepared herself for.

Skimpily dressed Falleen attendants, exuding dizzying amount of pheromones, escort them to the main hall. It’s a tactic designed to leave them disoriented and slightly more suggestible, but Satine’s knowledge of this does not render her immune. She feels like she’s just taken a large shot of Saxon’s whiskey- her head buzzes pleasantly and a sense of carefree giddiness settles over her. Almec has adopted a dopey grin, and only Savage seems to be resistant- his face is as stony and impassive as ever, though she notes that his gaze does follow prettier attendant as she slinks away.   

The inside of the hall is arranged around a giant circular bar filled with all manner of colorful liquors and exotic drinks. The bartender is a voluptuous alien with large white eyes and four slender arms- each of them busy making separate drinks for her wide variety of guests.

Reverberating music plays, and colored tiles on the floor light up in sync to the beat. The roof is golden, and crystals drip like luminous stalactites from it- their glow illuminating dozens of Black Sun members, female companions, and assorted guests. Among these others are a small group of Mando’s clad in the traditional armor belonging to the Protectors of Concord Dawn. Their helmets hang by their hips, and Satine spots some familiar faces: Tobias Eland, and Fenn Rau.

Saxon and his Death Watch brethren bristle as soon as they spot their rivals. Satine stretches a hand out to grasp Saxon’s shoulder. “Careful,” she warns him. The current alliance with the Protectors is fragile at best, and the thought of mixing that tension with alcohol sounds like a disaster of gargantuan proportions in the making. Saxon shrugs her hand away impatiently and removes his own helmet to better glower at Eland and his compatriots.

A dark haired human woman with silver floral tattoos decorating her cheeks glides up to her and Almec. “Apologies,” she says in liltingly accented Basic. “Ziton Moj does not intend to make you wait, but he is finishing attending to other business. He will be with you as soon as he is able. In the meanwhile, he suggests you enjoy our amenities.” She gestures to the bar and women. “Please.”

“Don’t have to tell me twice,” Saxon grumbles. He gestures over two green-skinned Twi’lek girls wearing liquid gold dresses that cling to them like a second skin. He offers one his helmet, and smirks as she coos in exaggerated awe and playfully runs her fingers down the sharpened horns. With a laugh, he throws an arm around each of them and waves his fellow Mando’s over as they leave for the bar. Satine warily notes their proximity to the Protectors, and prays the situation stays calm.

 “Can you watch them?” she asks Savage. His lips curl into a snarl, but he obeys, stalking over to shadow Death Watch as Saxon leads them in a round of toxic green shots.

“This is completely unacceptable,” Almec hisses as soon as the tattooed attendant is out of earshot. “Moj is doing this on purpose. It’s blatant disrespect.”

“I know,” Satine replies, frowning. “It certainly doesn’t bode well for negotiations.” She wonders if the insult extends beyond what Almec is insinuating- perhaps the Protectors were invited for the sole purpose of stirring them up.

Almec’s lips twist. “I need a drink. You should have one too, so it doesn’t look like we’re just waiting around for Moj like besotted schoolgirls.” He grins suddenly. “And I remember how much you liked Corellian Sunrises.”

Satine smiles a little despite herself. “Perhaps I’ll indulge later. But for the time being, I think I’ll people watch.”

Almec shrugs and heads over to the bar, keeping a healthy distance away from Saxon’s crew. He’s certainly a natural survivor- always instinctively careful to keep himself from any conflicts.

Satine’s eyes wander over the crowd. She spots a Zabrak woman dancing with a large, dark-skinned human- she politely averts her gaze as they begin to kiss. Two Cathar men shiftily make an exchange in the corner, something that appears to be _moving_ changing hands, and a lithe woman with a dancer’s gait roams through the crowds.

With a sigh, Satine gives up and walks to the bar- making sure to put space between both Death Watch and Almec. She’s about to order a drink when the feels a light finger sweep down her arm. Satine jumps, startled. She looks up to discover the woman she had noticed before, and Satine sees a white grin flash behind the shimmery veil that disguises her face.

“Hello Duchess,” the woman purrs, in a voice that is pleasingly hoarse.

The bartender approaches, but Satine waves her away. “You know me?”

The woman smiles again, and Satine makes out the shape of her lips- full and sensual. She doesn’t answer, but instead rubs her thumb in a circle around Satine’s wrist. With a faint shock, Satine realizes the other woman never removed her hand. There’s a pooling of heat low in her belly, and she wonders if the pheromones are still affecting her. She abruptly feels foolish in her clingy dress, with her hair spilling around her shoulders. _Undignified_.

“Most prisoners I’ve met don’t look _nearly_ as radiant as you,” the woman says lowly, and blue eyes glitter curiously from under the veil.

Satine yanks her hand back, and sees the woman’s lips curve down into a mocking pout. “What does that mean?” she snaps.

The woman winks.

There is a commotion on the other end of the bar, and Satine looks to see Saxon holding back one of his Mando’s from launching themselves at Rau, and the two of them begin to trade heated insults. Savage stands a few meters away, his arms folded over his chest, not making a single move to interfere.

_Some help you were_ , Satine thinks bitterly.

It is now that Moj decides is the perfect time to greet them. It takes a conscious effort for Satine to resist rolling her eyes, and she sees a muscle work in Almec’s jaw even as he offers an ingratiating smile.

“Come with me, honored guests,” Moj says insincerely, smirking as his reptilian gaze darts to observe as Rau angrily tackles Saxon to the ground.

As she goes with Almec and Moj, she spares a glance back at the bar. To her disappointment, the woman has vanished.   


	8. Chapter 8

When Satine was Duchess, her throne room was a place of tranquil discussion and resolution. She had an active role in the design: she had wanted it to feel both grand and warm: a majestic place where sentient beings from all over the galaxy could come together and share their knowledge. To that effect, large stained glass works depicting a peaceful Mandalore had been commissioned to decorate the walls, with the intended goal of illuminating the hall with soft, entrancing colors.

The stained glass art remains intact, but the light filtered through it somehow looks slightly _darker_ , with a reddish hue she never noticed before. Scarlet and black banners decorated with the Death Watch insignia drape from the walls, and exotic statues line the path to the throne. All the statues are spoils of war: either stolen by Black Sun and given as a gift to Maul, or simply loot acquired by the Mandalorians from their various campaigns. Their history lends them a menacing quality to Satine, and she notes their unsubtle placement. A visitor would be surrounded by Mandalorian conquests as they walked down to the throne: _here_ , they seem to say, _see what we have done. Anything we want, we can simply_ take _from you_.

At the end of their journey, they would see Almec- puppet king to a Lord of the Sith. Appropriate, perhaps, that Maul rules a world historically famed for mercenary conquest; Satine knows little of the ancient Sith, but she does remember the legend of how they received that name. After the Hundred Year Darkness, the first Dark Jedi came to an undeveloped world in the far reaches of known space. There they encountered a native species, known as the Sith. Through brutal, bloody conflicts, the Dark Jedi mercilessly subjugated them and their world. And after, they sat on their ill-begotten thrones and declared themselves Lords of the planet and its people: Lords of the Sith. And they kept the name ever since: immortalizing their first conquest.

And now, a descendant of that ancient order sits before her upon his own conquered throne on a conquered world.

The Sith peers down at them from that throne, eyes yellow and voice commanding. “Tell me.”

Almec speaks before Satine can, and she lets him. Quick-tempered and passionate, Almec always delivered a solid opener. In comparison, Satine always prided herself on being more careful and measured in her words.

“One: Black Sun and the Pykes are a hairs breath away from going to war. The Pykes want access to spice routes they claim Black Sun are withholding- Moj denies the accusations, but he’s a professional thug, not an actor. He’s obviously lying, and I think they might start blockading parts of the hyperspace traffic soon.” He sticks a finger up. “Two: Moj is forgetting his own debts to you. He disrespected us last night, perhaps to test the waters.” Another finger. “Three: our alliance with the Protectors is a joke. They broke the ribs of one of our soldiers in a petty skirmish.” Violet eyes flare with anger, even as he schools his voice into a calmer tone. “My Lord, if I may suggest: Moj must be shown the dangers of provoking you. His insolence cannot be allowed to continue unanswered. As for the Protectors…perhaps we should consider ending our alliance with them. They would be no match for our combined forces.”

Maul scowls. “Problems abound,” he murmurs, steepling his fingers together. “I agree that Moj needs a reminder of why he serves us: perhaps he has become _complacent_ in his position.” Maul’s lips quirk into a cruel smile. “He forgets he only inherited his role because my apprentice relieved the rest of Black Sun’s council of their heads.” His eyes darken, and he settles back in the throne. “But so many enemies at once…we would be _wise_ to choose our battles carefully.” Finally, he looks at Satine. “What are your impressions?”

Satine gives herself a few moments to collect her thoughts. “Almec is correct on many counts,” she says finally. “But I would caution against the courses of action he recommends. The Protectors, for instance, still respect their oaths to me, and Mandalore. I believe instead of increased hostilities, I should work more closely with their leadership, and impress upon them the continued importance of their sworn duty.”

Almec’s face twitches momentarily, before he control himself and it smooths over into haughty disinterest. Satine knows him well enough to guess that he’s fuming underneath, but he’s wise enough to do so silently. Maul doubtlessly senses it well enough without a visual confirmation anyway: even a Sabacc champion would be an open book to him. True enough, Maul spares Almec a quick glance before turning his focus back to Satine. She resists the urge to shiver uncomfortably under his full attention: she may be force blind, but she still feels the alien sensation of his power creep over her- it’s as if she’s suddenly being _watched_ by a thousand pairs of eyes. Her spine tingles, and she searches his face for a clue to his intentions.

His features remain impassive, but a glimmer of approval flickers briefly in the depths of his golden eyes. “And Black Sun? What would you have me do about their impudence?” He reclines back, lazily sprawling himself out and looking far more comfortable then he has a right too- Satine knows from first-hand experience that the throne is a far-cry from ergonomic. His voice adopts a silken, darkly playful note as he continues, “by insulting you they insult _me,_ Satine. You are my representative, an extension of my will. Would you have this go unpunished as well?”

Satine does not particularly enjoy that description of herself- she is no more an instrument of Maul then Fenn Rau is. Their interests are presently aligned, this is all. She wonders if the insinuation was a deliberate attempt to bait a more immediate, impassioned response, but she refuses to let it. Maul’s eyes track her as she composes herself and considers what she wants to say. “I believe,” she begins, “that Moj is indeed testing you. But a reply of excess cruelty might be dangerous as well: even a loyal akk dog will sometimes bite back when provoked. I do not believe he will end his alliance with you outright, especially considering the growing tensions with the Pykes. He would not risk having two enemies at his throat at once, and Mandalore is too valuable for him to risk. The influence we offer, and the hyperspace routes in our system add considerable wealth to both cartels.”

She pauses, and Almec takes the opportunity to jump in. “It might be wise to start considering which ally you find most _useful_ , my lord.”

 

* * *

 

When she first became Duchess, Satine found even the longest, most frustrating debates to be invigorating. The lively discussion, provoking dialogues, and even the occasional flared tempers instilled her with an energy that was antithetical to the rather cloistered and dry life she otherwise led. Now however, Satine hardly needs verbal confrontation to add energy to her life, and debates have become exhausting.

With a slow stretch and a yawn, Satine gazes longingly at her bed and resists the urge to immediately jump in. The time it takes her to unclasp her hair from its ornate braid alone feels like an eternity.

She slips into a silken nightgown, the sort of meaningless luxury she knows Maul and Death Watch would scoff at. Fortunately, she’s not exactly in the habit of spending time with Kast or Saxon after dark – an unfortunate thought late at night, as her sleep-addled mind, lacking its daytime discipline, fills with horrific mental images she can’t seem to banish.

She gets into her bed, and squeezes her eyes closed. _Nerfs_ she decides _I’ll count nerfs._

She’s on twenty-one nerfs before she hears a small creak in the corner of the room and a jolt of adrenaline shoots through her. Her heart begins to pound in her chest, but she resists the urge to open her eyes.

 _It’s nothing_ Satine tells herself. _And I deserve some sleep_. Her jitteriness has long robbed her of a full night’s rest. It’s past time to nip that trait in the bud. Nervously, she tells herself that Maul would be disgusted if he saw how thoroughly even the smallest hint of fear had mastered her.

There’s another sound – so faint that she might’ve missed it completely if her nerves hadn’t been electrified with paranoid terror. And then another, and Satine’s resolve dissolves so quickly it’s pathetic.

She opens her eyes, and from above blue eyes blink down at her. A choked scream is muffled by a hand across her mouth and Satine’s dazed, frenzied struggles are cut short as another hand quickly pins her wrists above her head.

“Don’t scream,” the figure chides, in a voice that is husky and familiar. _The woman from the bar_. And now that Satine’s eyes are adjusting to the darkness, she can finally place a face to the voice.

“Asajj Ventress,” she mumbles out from beneath the hand. _Obi-Wan has told me much about you_ she wisely refrains from adding. The woman laughs softly, her breath tickling Satine’s cheek.

“In the flesh,” Ventress murmurs, and it’s unfair how _sultry_ Satine still finds that voice, despite her predicament.

The woman’s slender arms belie an alien strength, and whipcord muscles flex as Satine struggles half-heartedly against her. Asajj smiles faintly, amused, and her blue eyes glint mischievously. Short white hair sticks up messily from her head, and Satine finds herself possessed by an uncomfortably persistent desire to run her fingers through it. She becomes abruptly aware of the nearness of the other woman, and a heat flushes through her as the warm weight of Asajj’s body grinds down onto hers. She feels the swell of the Nightsister’s breasts against her own, and Satine finds herself praying desperately to any god listening that her feelings won’t be too obvious to read through the force.

Satine tells herself that it’s just been far too long since she’s had someone in her bed- the chemical wiring in her brain that governs lust has simply gotten crisscrossed from disuse.

Asajj’s bright eyes twinkle down at her, and then her gaze shifts to the curtains and the door beyond, and her expression cools- any trace of mirth or lightness evaporating. She gets off of the bed, yanking Satine along with her, and now Satine does struggle in earnest- not that it does any good.

“Let me go,” Satine hisses as Ventress silently drags her to the window. “Tell me who you’re kidnapping me for at least,” Satine demands, her voice rising. “Black Sun? The Pykes? The Nite Owl remnants?” 

Irritably, Asajj stops. “You aren’t being kidnapped, Duchess.” Her eyes dart almost fearfully to the end of the room again. “We have to go now,” she snaps. “I don’t have time to argue.”

Ventress pulls them both to the window, and whistles softly. A black, insectoid robot scuttles from her boot and onto the window, latching on with a squeak. It begins to vibrate, and the window itself slowly heats, the glass glowing molten orange.

Asajj looks towards the curtains again and freezes, and the look of dread that crosses her face is enough to chill Satine’s blood in her veins. A heartbeat later and Satine hears it too- the sound of massive footsteps pounding on the ground, getting closer by the second.

Asajj lets go of Satine to stand in front of her, activating twin Sith blades at the same moment Savage bursts into the room.

“WITCH!” he roars. His brother’s rage is a dangerous simmer, but Savage has none of Maul’s control. His fury is raw and animalistic, and the sight of his livid, hateful eyes is enough to make Satine tremble.

“Ah, the guard dog himself,” Asajj purrs with convincing confidence, though Satine detects a faint quiver in her voice. She steps forward, dark lips slashing into a taunting smirk as her graceful body unfolds into a fighting position. There is another set of racing feet, and then Saxon is there as well- the metallic muzzle of his blaster illuminated by Savage’s lightsaber beside him.

Satine sees the exact moment Asajj mentally decides to cut her losses. In a flash, her lightsaber’s are sheathed and at her waist, and she presses a quick, playful kiss to Satine’s lips before darting to the window. She pushes out at the weakened, heated glass with the force at the same second she launches herself forward.

With a bellow of fury, Savage charges forward but it’s too late- Ventress has disappeared into the night, leaving behind no trace except the smoking remains of her robot, and a tingling warmth on Satine’s lips. Savage jumps out  through what’s left of the window to follow her on foot, but Satine already knows it’ll be futile. The Nightsister is long gone.    

Saxon is the first one to turn on the lights, and Satine blinks and squints at the sudden influx of brightness.

“Are you okay?” he asks, lowering his blaster but not putting it down. As her eyes adjust to the light, Satine notices that he’s wearing nothing except lime green and yellow boxers emblazoned with the name of a repulsor-skiing team. It looks absurdly out of place on his heavily scarred, muscled body.

Satine’s lip twitches. “Nice outfit.” Her voice shakes a little, but less noticeably then she feared it might.

Saxon scowls. His eyes are bleary and his hair is a mess- he likely was awakened by an alert about a perimeter breach from her room. “Nice nightgown,” he drawls. “Just in case you accidentally sleepwalk all the way to the Senate?”

Rook Kast enters the room in full armor and Saxon moans in frustration at the sight of it. “You’re embarrassing me in front of the Duchess, Kast. Do you _sleep_ in your armor or something?”

Kast removes her helmet. “I changed into it, dumbass. It’s good to prioritize effectiveness over speed.”

“And you’re too late,” Saxon snaps back. “So really, I think I’m owed an apology.”

“What happened here?” asks a third voice, silken and dripping with the ever-present threat of violence. Maul.

Saxon stiffens, and every muscle in his body tenses as he stands at attention. “Mand’alore,” he says, his voice instantly taking on a tone of almost reverential deference. Maul examines him for a heartbeat longer than necessary, expression as unreadable as ever.

“It was Asajj Ventress,” Satine tells him. “She was here to kidnap me…although for some reason, she claimed otherwise. Your brother and Saxon chased her off, I think Savage is in pursuit now.”

“It was the Protectors,” Saxons speculates darkly. “They want to undermine us, they must’ve reached out to her. Not many in the galaxy are aware of what’s happening here, let alone Satine’s role with us.” He turns to Maul, the fervor of an upcoming battle wiping away any trace of embarrassment at being almost naked. “My lord, let me and Rook take an armed battalion of soldiers to their base. We will annihilate their filth from the galaxy.”

Maul frowns. “Something else is going on here,” he says. “I want us to proceed with…caution.” And something about how Maul says that last word – almost hesitantly - sends a shock of renewed fear through Satine.


	9. Chapter 9

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> aka Saxon has a terrible day, and Rook is awesome
> 
> this chapter is sort of intended to bridge the last one with the stuff I have planned for the next chapter- but I hope you enjoy! I had some spare time today so i decided to knock it out :D

Satine breathes in through her nostrils, forcing the air down to her belly and back up out between clenched teeth. She does it again, attempting to center herself. Her heartbeat slows to an even, sluggish pace and her racing mind focuses on her goal. Her hands tremble slightly around the heavy, blocky weight of the blaster and her finger ghosts over the trigger. Her eyes narrow into a squint, and she takes another long breath as she exerts pressure on the trigger.

The blaster discharges a bolt of neon blue light with the sound of a firecracker going off.

The noise ringing in her eardrums, Satine holsters the blaster and looks up to see if her efforts were successful.

To her annoyance, the target at the end of the courtyard is untouched. A new scorch-mark now decorates the wall a few meters away, one of many new additions to the stone. Rook Kast gazes at her in horror, and to her immediate left Gar Saxon pulls at his hair.

“You haven’t hit it _once_ ,” he moans.

Rook pops a piece of gum into her mouth and begins to chew loudly. “It’s my turn to teach, Saxon. Point fingers at the newbie all you want, but I think her instructor is starting to share a portion of the blame.”

“Shut up,” Saxon growls. “It’s not my fault, I’m an amazing teacher. It’s just a steep learning curve, trying to get a pacifist trained to fight.” He scowls at Satine, his patience clearly close to expiring. The good-humored amusement he’d had when they started this morning is a long-lost memory, and the sight of her many misses littering the wall around her target has clearly frayed his temper.

Rook shrugs, blowing a bubble and popping it loudly. “She’s got natural talent. Heard about what she did when she ended that fucker about to kill you.”

Satine’s heart tightens at the memory, and it takes every drop of willpower in her body to resist dropping the blaster which suddenly feels white-hot. Saxon shoots Rook a warning glare, and she backs off, raising her hands in mock surrender.

“One more try, Saxon. Then I’m going to show Satine how a real Mando fights.” She smiles, the expression looking out of place against her stern features. Rook is the sort of woman that’s easy to picture barking out orders or terrifying small children, not smiling and joking around. “I think Satine and I will connect better anyway, feminine spirits and all.”

Saxon chuckles at that. “Kast, if I didn’t have firsthand evidence to the contrary, I’d think you had a cock between your legs.” Rook grins and pops another bubble.  “Alright,” he mutters, turning his attention back to Satine. “Plant your legs like I told you…no, that’s terrible.” He grabs her hips, roughly twisting them into a better position. “Raise your arms- okay, not bad. Try not to jerk them back when you fire this time, alright?”

Satine sighs dramatically. “Thank you, Saxon. I promise- I’ll try to make you proud this time.”

Saxon’s irritated frown slides into a wide, insincere smile. “You already make me proud, Satine,” he says, with more sarcasm then she feels is really necessary. He pats her head, eliciting a grimace. He laughs. “There’s that fighting spirit, Duchess. Now (and I know this is the hardest part for you) but try to _aim_.”

Despite their squabbling, Satine does her best to follow his advice. She breathes in and focuses on the target, holding her arms still and keeping her hands steady. She fires, and although the target isn’t struck dead-center as she hoped, it is clipped on the edge.

Strangely elated by this improvement, Satine turns towards Saxon with a grin. To her dismay, the blond man looks like he’s on the brink of tears. “Better,” he grinds out. “ _But the target is one meter by one meter we’re only ten meters away_.”

Rook spits out her gum. “My turn!” she says brightly. “Nice attempt, Saxon, you really warmed her up for me. But it’s time for a real Mando to take over.” She shoulders past Saxon and stands behind Satine, surprisingly gentle hands guiding her arms up and correcting her stance.

From beside them, Saxon pushes back his hair and heaves a long sigh. “I’ve burned villages to the ground, defeated Trandoshans in single combat, and killed the entirety of the Red Moon pirate gang single-handedly. But this has been my hardest challenge yet.”

“And you failed,” Rook says, pouting with mock sympathy as she rearranges Satine’s grip on the blaster. “And who’re the Red Moon pirates anyway? That sounds made-up.”

“It’s not,” he grunts, showing off a long silvery scar that slices down his jaw. “Where I got this.”

“Figured you cut yourself shaving.”

At Rook’s whispered encouragement, Satine squeezes the trigger and is rewarded by her first success: a clean hit left of center on the target. Rook whistles in approval. “Beautiful, Duchess. Figured you just needed a competent teacher to coax it out of you.” She smirks at Saxon, who now looks practically apoplectic.

“I’m going to see Manda’lore,” he grumbles. “Keep working with the Duchess.”

Rook doesn’t even spare him as much as a look. “Maybe we should get you another blaster,” she suggests when he’s disappeared. “The one you have now is a little bulky. More suited for someone Saxon’s size then me or you.”

Satine lowers the blaster and examines it. “I suppose so,” she says. It has been a bit awkward to handle, although she’d chalked it up to a general unfamiliarity with the weapon. Rook takes it from her, and offers her own blaster to Satine. “Thank you,” Satine says, surprised at the act of generosity. She’s well aware that most in Death Watch would be loath to loan out their favorite weapons, even briefly.

Rook doesn’t reply, but helps angle Satine’s body back into place. “Pretend the target is Saxon,” she recommends.

It does make it a little easier to pull the trigger.

 

* * *

 

Satine’s already put on her bodysuit in preparation for the upcoming meeting with the Protectors. She’s supposed to meet Saxon at the armory, but when she arrives the massive durosteel door is already cracked open and light pours from inside into the darkened hallway. Hesitantly, Satine peers in. Saxon and Maul are facing each other, exchanging words she can’t quite make out. Saxon’s arms are crossed over his chest, and his face is twisted in a scowl while Maul has the calm composure of a predator, eyes glittering brightly but indifferently. Satine stands there frozen, unsure whether she should announce her presence or simply slink away and pretend she was never there. Curiosity keeps her momentarily rooted and she watches with a morbid fascination as Maul reaches out to brush a thumb across Saxon’s bottom lip.

The Sith’s expression betrays nothing more than a cold inquisitiveness, but Saxon flinches at the touch and his lips part seemingly despite himself, a soft, strangled sound escaping them.

Satine decides she’s overstayed her welcome, but before she can make her escape she sees Maul’s eyes flash to her. Guiltily, she ducks back around the corner, but Maul is leaving as well. He glances at her as he heads away from the armory, his features impassive and disinterested. 

She waits outside for a few minutes before she enters, hoping her timing doesn’t come across as suspect.

Saxon glowers at her. “You’re early,” he snaps.

“Uh,” Satine replies, intelligently. She’s fairly certain that she’s actually late- but correcting Saxon in this moment seems wildly ill-advised. She doesn’t want to speculate too much about the nature of the interaction she witnessed, but from Saxon’s considerably soured mood she knows enough to tread lightly. “Sorry,” she says after a pause she hopes wasn’t suspiciously long.

“How did target practice go?” he asks her as he starts to help her with her armor. Not the scout’s anymore, fortunately. Satine’s grateful she no longer has to wear the secondhand armor of a woman she watched die in front of her.

She doesn’t have the heart to tell him that under Rook’s patient tutelage she was able to consistently hit the target, even when they reduced the size to a half meter by a half meter. “Typical, you know,” she says weakly. “I already had the basics down thanks to you so it wasn’t too bad.” She glances up as Saxon straps a chest-plate across her upper body. “Rook’s less fun then you, though.” Not entirely a lie, if she defines “fun” as “fun to watch about to blow a gasket”.

Saxon laughs at this. “That’s true!” he crows. “She’s a bit of a stick-in-the-mud. So serious. You know, she didn’t crack a smile during her whole wedding.”

Satine gasps, “She was married?” _That’s_ certainly something she can’t picture. She imagines Death Watch have different wedding ceremonies anyway, but just attempting to visualize Rook Kast exchanging vows with another sentient being makes her brain hurt.

Saxon licks his lips and averts his gaze, suddenly uncomfortable. Satine has a feeling this information was something he wasn’t supposed to divulge. “Was,” he says, and from the tone of his voice Satine knows she won’t be able to get him to elaborate. Any more information, she decides, she’ll have to coax from the source itself: when she gets back, she’ll need to remember to take Rook out for drinks.

The last piece of armor snaps into place, and Saxon hands her a helmet and a blaster. She tries on the helmet, and holds the blaster in her hand- raising her arm experimentally. “Can I get a smaller one?” she asks, not liking the robotic quality added to her voice as it’s pushed through the vocalizer. 

Saxon offers her another blaster- this one sleeker and more delicate. It fits more easily into her hand, and she fingers lightly at the trigger, testing how comfortable it would be to fire. She decides she prefers this one, and holsters it at her hip.

“Won’t pack the same kind of punch,” Saxon warns.

“That’s your job, anyway,” Satine tells him. Saxon’s mood immediately improves. His lips split into a malevolent grin, his eyes already alight with bloodlust. 

 

* * *

 

At her recommendation to Maul, it’s a small group that flies to meet the Protectors at their base.

_A small_ diplomatic _mission_ she had pleaded with Maul. It was Satine’s belief that a good faith attempt at discussing Asajj Ventress’ presence on Mandalore, helmed by herself, would produce more promising results then dropping a megaton ion bomb on Tobias Eland’s doorstep. While Maul had agreed with the general principle behind her plan, unfortunately he had decided to send Saxon and Savage along with her. Technically, they’re both under her command for the duration of the mission, but Satine entertains no doubts that they’ll both gladly pursue their own vendettas if it comes down to it. Savage especially: since his encounter with Ventress, the Nightbrother has been looking even more dour and sullen than usual. Whatever shared history they have is clearly not pleasant, but all Satine knows for sure is that Savage would happily tank any hope at peaceful dialogues with the Protectors in favor of running his lightsaber through the belly of Dooku’s old apprentice. All in all, she’s not exactly feeling optimistic about the upcoming negotiation.

Concord Dawn is a war-ravaged world: made ugly and misshapen by centuries of conflict. Vast swathes of the surface are still blighted and inhospitable, and great chunks of the planet itself have been blown away- forming a man-made sort of asteroid ring around the world.

When they touch down at the Protector’s basecamp, they’re escorted to meet Tobias Eland by an unnecessarily large pack of soldiers. Satine is greeted warmly enough- as she suspected, the Protectors still remember their vows to her, but Saxon and Savage might as well be gundarks that wandered onto the base. Satine is simply relieved that the hostility she senses radiating from the Protectors is controlled for the time being- she notices several soldiers rest their hands on the grip on their blasters, but so far nobody’s removed one from its holster.

They’re directed to the entrance of a tent, and Satine pushes herself through to find Tobias Eland waiting for her on a seat made from the sun-bleached ribs of a jai’galaar. He rises when he sees her, inclining his head in respect. From beside him, Fenn Rau scowls darkly when he sees Saxon- there’s a fading greenish bruise on his cheekbone, curtesy of their brief brawl. To Satine’s consternation, Saxon’s removed his helmet and his upper lip is curled up to expose teeth in a taunting sneer. Rau’s eye twitches and for a horrible moment Satine’s certain they’re going to come to blows again. But then Eland reaches to grasp his lieutenant’s arm, and Rau breaks eye contact.

“It’s good to see you again, Satine,” Eland says amiably, settling himself back onto his makeshift throne. He shoots Savage and Saxon cursory, dismissive glances. “I admit I enjoy the company you keep less.”

“We all serve Mandalore,” Satine says carefully, frowning a little. “These tensions between your men and mine are counterproductive.”

Eland looks slightly hurt. “My men are your men, Duchess.” A note of arrogance seeps into his voice, “we’ve sworn ourselves to you, and we do not take our oaths lightly. But we have sworn no oaths to the man you choose to serve.”

_Play to his pride_ Satine thinks. “You are honorable, Tobias, this is not in doubt. But I hope you will not ignore my own oaths, and my own honor. I have sworn myself to my Manda’lore, and my duty is to him as your duty is to me.” She spread out her hands, entreating him. “We must be united in the coming days.”

Eland licks his lips, considering. “We do support you, Satine.” He and Rau share a look. “Although we believe you lower yourself by consorting with Death Watch…we must trust in your judgement.”

Satine offers him a gentle smile. “Thank you, Tobias. We are all one people after all.” She gestures to Saxon, and he places a datapad in her hands. She approaches Eland, and passes it to him, watching attentively as he reads the contents. “A woman attempted to kidnap me two nights ago,” she says. Eland’s eyes widen, and he looks up to her in shock. His seemingly genuine surprise quells any question in her mind that she made the right decision coming here in peace.

“I am glad you’re safe,” he says, scanning her for any signs of injury.

“Yes, thank you,” Satine says quickly. “I remember meeting this woman at the Black Sun yacht earlier this week: unfortunately, we were able to trace back the lightspeed cruiser she’d used to dock at their pleasure ship.” She pauses, and gestures to the datapad where the proof of her words is displayed. “It came from Concord Dawn.”

Eland looks back up to her. “I didn’t know, Duchess.”

“I believe you,” Satine tells him, and his shoulders drop in relief. “She’s likely going to come back here to leave this sector though, her cruiser didn’t have hyperspeed capabilities. We want to track her down before she has that chance, and discover who sent her.”

Eland retrieves his own datapad and types in a few quick commands. “All traffic from this planet has been ordered suspended. Any violators attempting to leave will be shot on sight.” He frowns. “A temporary solution, of course. I can’t keep this ban for long, but it might buy you a few days.” His frown deepens. “I have an idea of where she will attempt to leave the planet. I can have Fenn Rau take you, on one condition.”

“Certainly.”

“He’ll be there when you interrogate her, as my representative.” Eland smiles grimly at her discomfort at this idea. “Trust goes both ways, Duchess.”


	10. Chapter 10

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> so the update speed has been pretty fast for the last few days but fair warning that the next chapter is going to take a bit longer to come out.  
> someee small smut in this chapter (although not very explicit) but otherwise it's fairly low action. next chapter will have more action and more Maul!  
> hope you enjoyy :D

They take a bulky, though otherwise inconspicuous freighter to the dock Eland directs them too: the largest in Concord Dawn, technically located on the smaller of its moons. It’s an ugly port, formed from twisted metal spires that have long since rusted over, and filled with ungainly, dirty ships that carry sentient beings that are all manners of disreputable. Their own freighter fits in perfectly: once blue, it’s since been stripped of its paint and its pride. The now-gray hull is pocked with battle scars and scorch marks, and various bits of the exterior plating have been eroded away by the wear of atmospheric reentry.

They land amidst the other ships waiting for the hyperspace ban to be released so they can leave this toxin-choked moon. As Eland predicted, the ban is a temporary solution at best: already people are starting to get antsy. In a day or two, smugglers under a strict deadline will start to decide they’d rather risk the wrath of the Protector’s than that of their cartel masters and take to the skies. Once that happens, other ships will also begin to leave, and Ventress will slip away in the mass exodus from Concord Dawn.

Rau opens up a holo display in the cockpit, and using a code Eland provided slices into the port’s mainframe. “I’ll run facial recognition on all areas I have access too,” he tells them. He taps at the comm that loops around his ear. “Any matches and I’ll get a ping.” As a former Separatist war criminal, Asajj Ventress’ image had not been especially difficult to track down. That begin said, Satine is fairly confident Ventress isn’t stupid enough to walk around without some sort of disguise, but Rau’s slicing skills aren’t the only tool at their disposal. Whatever connection Savage has with the Nightsister lets him sense her presence in the force with a far greater accuracy than normal. Currently, the Sith is meditating in the cargo hold at the back of the ship, searching for his target through the currents of the dark side.   

In the meanwhile, Rau shows her and Saxon where Eland keeps his liquor. It’s the sort of peace offering that Saxon prefers, and it keeps him pleasant enough with the Protector as they down shots of whiskey. Satine pours herself a glass to sip on- she knows if she tried to match Rau and Saxon in a drinking competition she’d be incoherent and drooling on the ground before she could say “alcohol poisoning”. She shudders at the thought.

“You said this was Nubian whiskey?” Saxon asks Rau skeptically.

“Sure,” Rau says. His lips split into a nasty grin as Saxon scowls disbelievingly at the bottle. “Have you ever been to Naboo?”

“No,” Saxon replies, unconvinced.

“Well, this is what all the whiskey there tastes like.” He raises his shot glass in the air, as if daring the other man to call his bluff.

Saxon shakes his head, but nonetheless raises his own glass to clink against Rau’s, and they both toss back the contents. Satine takes a long drink from her glass as well, and decides that Rau is either a moron or a liar. She would be surprised if this brand of alcohol would even be _legal_ on Naboo. She watches as Rau forces back a smirk at Saxon’s wince, and amends her judgement: he’s simply a bit of an asshole. She doesn’t hold it against him- Rau’s a young man, his face not yet worn and scarred, he hasn’t fully realized how harsh and unforgiving the galaxy can be. Time will burn away his cockiness and self-certainty just as surely as it does anything else.  

They drink for a while longer and somewhere during that time Savage leaves to explore more of the port- likely trying to pinpoint Ventress’ location. Soon after, Satine decides to take advantage of the now-empty cargo hold to retire for the night. “I’m tired,” she announces, disliking the faint slur that slips into her voice.

“Okay,” Saxon replies sardonically.  

It’s not long after she’s spread out some threadbare blankets and settled into a relatively comfortable position on the floor that Satine hears raised voices, and she peers up to see what the commotion is about. From the dirty window on the door she sees Rau and Saxon facing off, shouting furiously at each other.

Rau hisses an insult she can’t make out, and it seems to be the final straw for Saxon- Satine can almost see his self-control shattering behind his spiteful grey eyes. He offers a tight, chilling smile and then in a sudden motion he lunges at the other man.

In a flash, Saxon has slammed Rau against the wall, his hand gripping at the other man’s throat. With all the time she’s been spending joking with Saxon and training under him, Satine’s almost let herself forget that at his core the commander is a sadist and brute. He’s larger than Rau, more muscular and stronger, and his fingers flex around the Protector’s exposed throat. Saxon’s lips peel back from his teeth in an animalistic snarl, and Satine panics, wondering if it has become past time to interfere, although she doesn’t even know what she would do- she could hardly pull Saxon away.

 Rau gasps for breath, struggling against Saxon. “Fucker,” Rau pants, enraged.

And maybe because the stress of the last few days has completely obliterated Saxon’s sense of reason, or perhaps it’s the toxic combination of sexual frustration, anger, and alcohol, but suddenly Saxon’s mouth is pressed against Rau’s in a hateful, punishing kiss. And to Satine’s utmost horror, Rau is kissing him back, his hand grabbing roughly at Saxon’s hair even as the other man continues to squeeze his throat. Saxon grinds against him savagely, and Rau gasps out something that’s half a curse and half a moan of desire. Satine turns away sharply as Saxon begins to unclasp his pants, deciding she’s seen more than enough. The moment of violence has abruptly shifted into…something else, and as long as nobody ends up with a crushed larynx Satine’s relatively sure she’s absolved of any responsibility.

She curls herself into a sleeping position between two empty crates, and closes her eyes. Unbidden, images of Asajj rise to the forefront of her mind- she pictures the Nightsister pinning her to her bed again, but this time pushing up her nightgown and trailing hot, hungry kisses down the length of her body, arriving at the warmth between her legs. Satine shivers, and she’s uncertain if it’s due to discomfort or arousal. She blames Saxon for these unwelcome thoughts; as if on cue, she faintly hears him ordering Rau to his knees in a rough voice.

 

* * *

 

She sleeps fitfully, and when she awakens Savage is looming above her, his eerie yellow gaze burning into her.

Satine scrambles up to her feet. “I didn’t mean to steal your spot,” she apologizes, laughing nervously. His eyes track her uncaringly as she rises, and she wonders if he even notices that she’s talking. “I can leave,” she offers. From a quick glance out of the hold, she can see that the coast is finally clear: Rau and Saxon appear to be asleep in mercifully separate corners.

“No,” Savage growls, startling her.  “I want to tell you about Ventress.”

Satine blinks in confusion. “Of course,” she says after a beat. “I’d welcome any information you’re comfortable sharing with me.”

Savage remains silent for a long moment, his yellow eyes narrowing as if he’s uncertain of how he wants to proceed. He sits down on the storage crate beside her, and Satine fears the metal will collapse under his immense size. He says nothing for another moment. When he does speak, his voice sounds even more gravelly than usual, the low sound reverberating in the air. “I had a brother once. Before Maul.”

This is news to Satine. Her eyes widen in surprise, and she struggles against her immediate desire to ask a dozen follow-up questions. Savage glowers into the distance. “He was weak, but I loved him. Protected him. But I could not keep him safe forever.

“Ventress came to my village to find a warrior she could make into a slave. The Nightsisters took me, corrupted me with their magic. Made me….” He pauses, and then says, “ _strong._ But they tied my will to hers. And to test it, she made me kill my brother.”

Satine does not know what to say. She wishes she could comfort him, but she does not know how. Savage Opress is even more unfamiliar a being to her than Maul is: at times he seems to be part man, part beast. She chooses the man to try to comfort, even though she knows it will do little good. “I’m sorry,” she tells him quietly. As expected, he stares at her without expression.   

After an uncomfortable pause, he continues. “A part of me is still… _bonded_ to her.” He spits out the word like it’s a poison, burning his tongue. His expression darkens, and yellow knuckles turn white as he makes a fist. “I felt her crawling in the back of my mind on the Black Sun ship, but I didn’t recognize it for what it was. But when she came to you again that night- it woke me from my sleep like a nightmare.

“I sense her now, as we approach. And I sense her here: her presence clinging to you. Like a scent.” His yellow eyes gaze at Satine without any trace of artifice or trickery. Unlike Maul, Savage has no patience for mind games, no desire to toy with her. He’s plainspoken and blunt, the proverbial hammer to Maul’s scalpel. Satine appreciates the directness, although being on the receiving end of his undivided attention is an unnerving sensation.

He watches her, waiting for her to respond. “She did kiss me, I suppose,” Satine says hesitantly.

“No,” Savage rumbles. “Not that. You’re drawn to her.” _Like a moth to a flame,_ Satine thinks bitterly. _Or a moon being sucked into the orbit of a dying star_. Satine blames it on her considerably long dry spell, and makes a noncommittal noise in the back of her throat.

Savage’s brow furrows. “I don’t blame you. Nightsisters are… _seductive_ creatures. I only say this because I think you should know: I’m going to kill her.”

Satine gapes at him, stifling her immediate reaction of sputtering incoherently. She collects herself, and says slowly, “Maul wants her alive. To interrogate her- he thinks there’s something deeper at work going on.”

Savage shrugs his massive shoulders.

Biting her lip in frustration, Satine tries again. “Your brother-”

“My brother is my master,” Savage interrupts. “But he is not my king.” He glances through the window at Saxon’s now-sleeping form, his eyes narrowing with disgust. “I have not tricked myself into believing he is a god. I do not worship him.”

Satine stares at him uncomprehendingly. Silently, he rises to his full, impressive height and she is suddenly cognizant of how tiny she must look to him. And how alien he looks to her now: a colossus of a creature, twisted in this monstrous form by dark magic and the evil intent of cruel witches. She pities him, and the man he was before his life and his brother were stolen from him by forces outside of his control. His desire for vengeance is certainly understandable, but Satine knows it will doom them all.

She also realizes there are no clever words she could use to persuade him. He is a creature of action; this is all he knows and all he respects. Savage stares at her for another second, as if challenging her to respond. She does nothing, and with a grunt he stalks off to the cockpit.


	11. Chapter 11

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> lol damn sorry for the delay...again. I really hope i get the next chapter out a little faster this time! tbhhh i'm not entirely satisfied with how this turned out, and i'm not thrilled with the lack of Maul-ness, but I am excited for what's coming next, so I hope you enjoy ;P

When they do find Asajj, it is a rather one-sided fight.

Savage takes the lead, with Fenn Rau observing from the sky- the Protector poised and ready to cut off any attempt at an escape. Originally, Saxon and Satine were also supposed to be with Rau in the air, and Savage says as much when Saxon tells him the new plan.

“We wanted to tag along with you,” Saxon says, smiling sweetly. “See an expert at work.”

If Savage is suspicious, he says nothing. Satine thinks the Nightbrother realizes he will have to make the most of his window of opportunity, and quickly.  

They strikes as soon as Asajj is in range; Saxon rockets himself into the air, spewing down a jet of fire from his flamethrower that forces Ventress to retreat directly into Savage’s path.

For a time, they are evenly matched. Savage is all brute force and vicious, powerful strikes, but Asajj is as deadly and fluid as a snake and she cleanly evades his blows. He roars at her as she weaves and dances around his attacks, and in a flash of red she manages to strike a glancing blow to his prosthetic arm. Sparks explode from the wrist, and he stumbles back, relinquishing the advantage.

Satine has no doubt that if it had been just the two of them, Asajj would’ve eventually been triumphant. But from her own vantage point, she hears Saxon’s voice over her helmet comm, instructing her to activate her own flamethrowers. As she does, Asajj snaps around, just as Saxon fires several shots into the ground around her. Concrete bursts up and superheated chunks of rock fly around her; startled, Asajj loses her advantage as quickly as she gained it.

In a series of short, ruthless movements, Savage has overpowered his smaller opponent, and her lightsabers fly out of her hands as he kicks her roughly in the stomach. She falls backwards, and he backhands her as she does. From the ground, Ventress spits out blood.

Savage’s red blade hums in the air and with a roar he raises it over his head, ready to bring it crashing down into Asajj’s exposed chest. From beside him, quick as a sandviper, moving too fast for even a force-user to properly sense, Saxon aims his blaster and fires.   

Satine suspects Gar Saxon is not an intrinsically loyal or honorable man. But Savage was right, he does worship Maul, and for Saxon, defying Maul would be tantamount to spitting in the face of his god. To Saxon, Maul’s will is sacrosanct and to even _think_ otherwise is a form of heresy. In most situations, Satine would consider that sort of blind devotion a character flaw, but even she admits it did come in handy. It had required precious little convincing to persuade Saxon to go along with her plan to subdue Savage. All she had needed to tell him was the truth – that Savage’s wishes and _Maul’s_ wishes were unaligned. That was all Saxon had required. 

His aim is true- the stun blast hits the Nightbrother full in the chest, and with an almost puzzled frown Savage collapses to the ground, his lightsaber deactivating in his hand. Asajj’s eyes alight as she sees the opportunity, but Saxon fires lightning fast in her direction as well, and her body seizes up, fingers twitching.

From the sky, an ink black ship sweeps across the horizon, blocking out the low red sun as it does. Both Saxon and Satine raise their gazes to observe its final descent: Maul has arrived to collect what is rightfully his.  

 

* * *

 

Savage and Saxon stare silently at each other, long-dormant hatred stirring in both their gazes. The unstable truce that had previously existed between them – born of the unspoken knowledge that the other was too important to Maul to touch – has been shattered, and now the two wear expressions of open contempt.

Maul had been almost apoplectic with his brother’s actions, and had immediately consigned him to one of the ships cells. Satine has no doubt he will personally deal with Savage later, but for the time being he is too preoccupied with the matter that is Asajj Ventress then to distract himself with other matters. So for the foreseeable future, Savage’s only company is Saxon and Satine.

“Fucking traitor,” Saxon hisses to him.

 Savage barely reacts. “You’re nothing but a dog,” he rumbles. “Begging my brother for scraps of his regard.”

Saxon snarls wordlessly at him and spits on the ground. “At least I’m a loyal dog,” he finally forces out between gritted teeth. He inhales sharply and Satine thinks he means to say more, but instead a spasm of anger distorts his features and he stalks out of the holding cell.

Satine remains behind, but Savage barely acknowledges her. The Nightbrother rolls his shoulders, flexing powerful muscles experimentally against his restraints.

Satine feels wave of fresh guilt crash over her, and she begins to form the words to express her sorrow. Before her lips have even started moving, Savage stops her. “Don’t.” And at her confusion, he glares up at her, his eyes lamplight yellow. “The force tells me what you’re about to say. But I don’t want your _pity_.”

Satine kneels before him mutely, and after another beat of silence Savage speaks again. “I wanted your _trust_ ,” he tells her in a low growl. “But you couldn’t give me that. There is nothing you can offer me in its place.”

“You know it’s not that simple,” Satine tells him. “I couldn’t betray Maul. We needed to find out what she’s hiding. What the _reason_ is for all of this. Doesn’t – doesn’t something feel _wrong_?”

The anger simmering in his yellow eyes- almost a mirror of Maul’s - drains away and he simply looks tired. His massive shoulders slump and he suddenly looks very much unlike his brother. “I wanted to be free of the witch,” he says darkly.  “And capturing her was a mistake. Her words are poison, you will not find truth in them.”    

Satine rises and places a hand on his shoulder, feeling the warmth radiating through his thick bodysuit. Savage makes no move to dislodge her hand. “You will be free soon enough,” she promises him. “Whatever our disagreements, we all fight on the same side.”

Savage sighs wearily. “You remind me of Feral,” he tells her. “He was also a peacemaker.” Savage turns from her before she can fully process this. “Leave me,” he commands. “See to your witch. I hope her words are worth it.”

 

* * *

 

When they arrive on Mandalore, they move quickly. Rook Kast collects them all almost immediately upon arrival, her guards herding Asajj into a cell that is much more crude and unpleasant then the one Satine had been consigned too. It is a blocky, claustrophobic creation buried deep in the lowest floors of the palace, with stone walls illuminated only by a harsh fluorescent overhead light that flickers enough to give any being a headache. In the center of the cell are two chairs with a metal table in between, all bolted to the ground. Despite its archaic design, hidden cameras are watching everything- from an adjacent room Fenn Rau and Rook Kast are doubtlessly observing the proceedings.

Asajj sits in one chair, a shock collar affixed around her throat, and unwieldy restraints holding her wrists together at a slightly awkward angle. Nevertheless, she looks remarkably comfortable for someone who only recently regained consciousness. The chair across from her is occupied by Saxon, stripped of his helmet but otherwise still fully armored up.  Satine stands near the door with Maul – he had chosen to leave the interrogation to Saxon, so he could focus his energies on probing Asajj through the force, trying to gauge any deception or sense any emotional slip. She wonders if that is the only reason. Maul seems…ill at ease, and Satine’s not surprised, considering what happened with Savage.

“Let’s start simple,” Saxon is saying. “What brought you here?”

“I’m a bounty hunter,” Asajj purrs. “Go ahead- guess. You seem like a smart boy.”

Saxon grins at her. “You know that you’re the first woman to tell me that? My ol’ mom knew she wasn’t good enough a bullshitter to say it. But I manage, so why don’t you tell me a little more about that bounty. Who requested it?”     

Satine has begun to note that Asajj shares the same controlled, languid grace as Maul, as well as his propensity for disquieting stillness. She wonders briefly if maybe these are Sith traits- perhaps byproducts of the dark side- before dismissing that thought. Savage Opress is as steeped in the dark side as he is a profoundly ungraceful creature- clearly not all Sith have been endowed with supernatural poise.

The results of martial prowess then, Satine decides. And whatever the true reason behind these traits are, Asajj uses both to full, unnerving effect. She relaxes against the chair and casts a cold, imperious look at Saxon. Even with the shock collar secured around her neck and an ugly bruise marring her cheek, Asajj still manages to look like a queen, surveying her subjects and finding them _lacking_.

Asajj offers Saxon an insincere smile. “As a Mandalorian, you should know better than to ask me that. Many bounties are anonymous- and it’s in poor taste for the hunter to have any skin in the game.”

Saxon barks out a laugh. “Please. Bounty hunter or not, a woman like you wouldn’t come to the ass-end of the galaxy and go to all this trouble for an _anonymous_ job. Way too much risk for you.” He leans forward, and the harsh glow of the overhead light throws the thin scars crisscrossing his face into sharp relief. “So let’s try again,” he says with a dangerous pleasantness. “And the truth this time- what’re you doing here?”

Asajj only seems amused by his efforts, but she pauses to lick her lips. A thoughtful expression crosses her face. “I want to talk with Satine,” she says at last.

In truth, Satine had been expecting a request like this to come sooner or later. She was the Nightsister’s original target after all, and whatever has brought the other woman all the way to Mandalore is thereby intricately tied to her. Something stirs in Satine again, the vague sensation that _something_ isn’t right, that there’s something she’s missing…but she dismisses it. There is only one way to get to the bottom of this at any rate, and while her nascent feelings for Asajj add a wrinkle to it, Satine is well-practiced in suppressing her desires for the greater good. Her past with Obi-Wan certainly proved as much.

She glances towards Maul and he shrugs. “We’ll be watching everything,” he warns Asajj softly. The rest of the threat is left unspoken. Maul gestures at Saxon, and reluctantly the other man stands to leave. With a lingering scowl at Asajj, he follows Maul out of the cell.

Satine waits a few moments after they leave to address Asajj. “Why did you ask to speak to me?”

Asajj looks bored, and picks at a spot of blood on her pants with a white nail. “Why not?”

Satine forces down her frustration and pushes onwards. “You know what I mean. What’s the purpose of this?”

Asajj raises her gaze to appraise her, and she is silent for long enough that Satine wonders if she is planning on speaking at all.

“I’m curious,” the Nightsister says suddenly. “I was told you were a prisoner, but I come to this world and you’re right beside the throne, and you seem to have the ear of _Manda'lore_ himself.” She lounges back, and peers at Satine through heavy-lidded eyes. Her lips widen into a leer. “Don’t mistake me, I admire what you’ve done here. And it’s certainly _attractive_ \- I’ve always had a soft spot for powerful women.” Asajj pauses again. “But like I said, I’m curious. I thought you were a woman of peace and principle. Why throw away your moral code to work for the man who conquered your world? Why band together with a group of Mandalorians you once called terrorists?”

Satine thinks back to the beginning of this journey, when Maul came to see her in her cell to offer her the bargain that would change everything. She remembers the slow process in which she had comes to terms with her choice, and the gradual realization that the universe was filled with infinitely more shades of gray then she had imagined. She remembers when she was forced to take a life, in order to save a life, and how that had been the final blow that shattered many of her old presumptions about morality and justice.

Satine thinks of all of this, and struggles to put it into words. “You’re oversimplifying,” she says at last.

Asajj is eyeing her carefully, and Satine wonders how much of her emotions the other woman has just seen through the force. “Maybe so,” she concedes. “But you’re loyal to him? _Maul?_ ”

Satine’s cheek twitches. “It’s not that simple,” she says. “But for our purposes, yes, you could say as much.”  

Satine does not see Asajj move, but a pale shadow passes before her and Asajj is suddenly close enough to touch.

“They’re watching you,” Satine reminds her, fighting to keep the faint tremble (of fear? Or desire?) from her voice. From Asajj’s quick grin she’s…less than successful.

A lesser woman would’ve broken Satine’s gaze to automatically search for the cameras. But Asajj does not as much as blink. Her unearthly blue eyes remain steady and impassive, and only the faint smirk playing across her full lips betrays any trace of emotion. Her smile disappears as she scrutinizes Satine, and her expression turns as still as glass. After a tense second, her body loosens and the smirk reappears. “I’m ready to talk now,” she says with a wink. “You’ve broken me.”

If there was any doubt that Maul and Saxon had been waiting by the doors it vanishes as they immediately enter. Satine admit to herself that she finds their reaction time to be almost comically fast. To Satine’s faint surprise, Fenn Rau accompanies them in full armor.

Asajj Ventress offers a wide, toothy smile at the assembled crowd. She’s a predator in her element, totally devoid of the fear most other creatures would have facing Maul and two Mando’s.

“Speak,” Maul growls, folding his arms over his chest. “And if this is some rouse, you will not live to test my patience again.”

“You’re all wrong,” Asajj says lazily. “I wasn’t hired to kidnap Satine. And you should’ve known that already because I _told_ Satine exactly that when I found her in the palace. This was a rescue mission.” She waits a brief moment before finishing, and in that pause Satine’s belly fills with dread- as if a part of her _knows_ the words that will come next. “Obi-Wan Kenobi sent me.”


	12. Chapter 12

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> so this chapter is really, really weird. it also does not move the plot along much further, so it's kind of a bizarre interlude. i 100% just pulled a made-up Sith ritual from my ass, and if that's not to your liking, you will be pleased to know that next chapter will return to our regularly scheduled programming! i hope you do enjoy, but no sweat if it's not your cup of tea ;) i mostly just got the idea stuck in my head and went with it

Her first thoughts turn to Obi-Wan.

Hearing his name out loud feels strangely perverse- as if her dreams have somehow slipped into the waking world. She has been without him so long, and in all this time all thoughts and memories of him have been consigned to a private, personal oasis deep in the recesses of her mind. Satine had almost forgotten the reality of him beyond what her imagination has conjured, but now she is forced to reflect on the sheer totality that is Obi-Wan Kenobi.

Her heart races despite itself, as if she was a teenager again, and she recalls the blinding, sloppy infatuation they had shared. Unprompted, she remembers his cocky smile, and the warm glow that it brought to her whenever it was directed her way. She remembers the intoxicating smell of his sweat after a battle, and the hardness of his lean muscles. She remembers their first time together, how he had slid so easily into her body- as if they were made to fit together. She remembers how that youthful passion had eventually solidified into a deep, earnest love that has never truly abated.

She has always loved Obi-Wan Kenobi, and she always will. Nothing has ever truly shaken her affection for him, and it remains undisturbed even now. And then her heart clenches and the warmth in her belly is replaced by a cold, firm knot of dread.

He will _ruin_ everything; if he comes, her world will know strife and war and bloodshed again. Satine is as certain of this as she is anything concerning her old love.

She processes all this in a matter of moments. And then like clockwork, her thoughts spin to Maul.

She turns to face him, and she’s not alone. A dreadful, foreboding quiet has settled in the room and everyone holds themselves perfectly still- as if to brace for the expected explosion of anger. Saxon’s face is as hard as stone, and his eyes dart around nervously. Even Asajj does not move. It is the natural fear response when confronted by a dangerous predator- and now, Maul looks very much like a predator. His eyes almost seem to shimmer with malice, and his lips slowly peel back from his teeth in a feral snarl. His tattoos ripple with the movement, making them look like living snakes crawling under his skin.

In the time she has gotten to know Maul better, Satine has come to see him not as the demon Obi-Wan warmed her of, but as a man- understanding his moods, appreciating his rationality and sly wisdom, even enjoying the small, rare moments of his compassion. It has been a long time since she has looked at him and seen only a beast. But now that old fear surges back, and it leaves her lightheaded and dizzy in its wake. She is paralyzed in the face of it, and can only wait for him to react.

Then, unexpectedly, his lips split further and he bursts into laughter. To Satine’s ears, it sounds almost deranged. “ _Now?!”_ Maul says. “ _Now!_ Of all times!” His words end in a strangled, maniac sound that is half snarl and half giggle. His yellow eyes blaze with a wildness she has never seen on him.

With a laser like intensity, he turns his attention to Asajj and in a sudden motion grips his fist closed. The breath explodes out of the Nightsister and she begins to gasp for air, clutching futilely at her throat. Her blue eyes bulge with alarm as she slowly rises up against her will.

“ _Tell me,_ ” Maul hisses, now suddenly deathly quiet. “When is he coming?”

Asajj kicks at the air and continues to grab at her neck, and Maul suddenly seems to realize his mistake. Some lucidity creeps back into his eyes, and he release his fist, letting Asajj tumble to the ground.

She pants and wheezes, and when she looks up at him there is a cold promise etched into the hard set of her face. Nevertheless, when she has breath to do so, she answers him. “I don’t know,” she says. “My last update to him was when I failed to retrieve Satine.” She bares her teeth and spits out her next words like daggers. “He’ll be expecting me to return to him on Coruscant. But he knows where she is, and he knows she’s alive, so when I don’t return it’s only a matter of time.”

“But we do have time,” Maul murmurs, running his hand across his face.

“Some,” Asajj admits. She smiles. “But you know it won’t be enough.”

“I have a _world!_ ” Maul rages, suddenly incensed. “I AM MANDA’LORE, I AM A LORD OF THE SITH!” The force gathers around him like a dark storm; the air goes static and everything not bolted to the floor begins to rattle. “What is _he? Nothing.”_ He sucks in air, and controls himself. His next words are silkily pleasant, and this almost disturbs Satine more than his rage. “He will not take this from me. If he comes to this planet, I will crush him.”

His gaze flickers across the room to Saxon, and something unreadable passes between them. Some of Maul’s tension seems to bleed away, and when he seeks out Satine his eyes are sharp and clear. “Are you with me?” he asks her.

It is the only question to ask, and Satine knows its importance. She feels a faint tickle in the back of her skull that she knows to be a psychic probe, and she does not blame him for this incursion. She answers as honestly as she can. “I am.”

She is, but oh, does it hurt. _Obi-Wan_ she thinks _I wish you hadn’t found me._  

She sees her truth reflected in Maul’s eyes, and in turn she sees them soften ever so slightly. “You are,” he tells her, and she wonders if that is _relief_ in his tone.

 

* * *

 

Not too many hours later, Maul summons her and Saxon to his quarters. This is the first time she’s been invited to them, and they’re just as Spartan as she would’ve expected. The room is dark and lightless, and the only furniture present is a small cot pushed against the far wall. Two powered-down, badly abused training droids stand mutely by the door, and they are the closest thing to decoration Satine can see.

Maul sits on the edge of the bed, clearly troubled. He does not raise his gaze at their entrance, but he does lift his hand to wave them over. Saxon hurries towards him, and Satine follows suit, albeit slightly more tentatively. Saxon kneels before his lord, while Satine remains standing, examining Maul. His face is drawn and exhausted, but his eyes still gleam with a slightly unhinged energy that unnerves her. This is not a side of Maul she has often witnessed, and despite her best attempts at quelling them, her animal instincts are screaming for her to run.

“Tell us what we can do, Manda’lore,” Saxon urges. A pleading note softens his ordinarily harsh voice as he continues, “let us _serve_ you. Let us make this _right_.”

Maul scrutinizes him, and the intensity of his regard makes Saxon shrink back slightly. His yellow eyes turn to Satine next, and she also flinches away – his gaze is blindingly bright and intrusive; she feels like he can see into the darkest, most intimate depths of her mind, even that secluded oasis where her love for Obi-Wan dwells. After a moment that feels entirely too long for her comfort, he speaks in a hoarse whisper. “I need to _know_.” He pauses, and his next words are louder and more deliberate. “This was not how it was supposed to be. Kenobi has defied my plans at every turn, and now he comes when I am least prepared.” The golden light in his eyes seems to dim a little, and he sighs. “He delayed coming so long that I thought he never would…. And I accepted it. Losing my chance at revenge, but securing my grip on a world… it seemed a fair price.” The strange moment of vulnerability passes, and Maul’s face tightens. His eyes alight with renewed anger, and his next words drip with poison. “And _now_ he comes to ruin all I have built here and all I will go on to build. I will not be blindsided by his trickery, I will _know_ how he plans to destroy me.” The wildness has fully returned to him, and in a swift motion he rises, looming over Saxon.

“There is an ancient Sith ritual,” Maul says. “A way to see the threads of reality itself; to pull my answers directly from the wellspring of the force.” He trails off, and grudgingly admits, “I have never attempted such a thing before.”

“What does it require?” Saxon asks, without a seconds pause. His loyalty is absolute; if Maul told him he desired the stars plucked from the heavens, Saxon would comply without question.  

Maul seems reluctant to answer right away, and his forehead furrows in a deep scowl. “The willing participation of those…closest to me. I suspect this contributed to the rituals decline among the Sith once the Rule of Two was initiated.”

“I’m honored, Manda’lore,” Saxon murmurs.

Satine is also surprised by the stirrings of affection she feels at the proclamation. While she knows it’s likely an already short list of people that could count themselves close (in any real sense of the word) to Maul, and she has earned her place in no small part due to the merit of simply being an ally in proximity to him, she does take pleasure in the distinction.

“You honor me as well,” she tells him. And then, because she is under no illusions that is she as near or dear to Maul as his brother, she hesitantly asks, “And what about Savage?”

Maul’s expression darkens. “I cannot stand to look at him now,” he says coldly. “You two…will suffice.” Hardly resounding praise, and Saxon frowns a little at the qualifier.

Satine licks her lips, reflecting back to her lessons of the force with Obi-Wan. “How will we participate?” she asks. “Saxon and I are both force-blind.”

“I will initiate the connection,” Maul responds. “And just because you cannot sense the force does not mean it does not flow through you. All life can act as a conduit for the force, and through me you will be able to share in the vision… assuming all goes smoothly.”

“We will do anything,” Saxon promises, and Satine winces, wishing he wouldn’t speak so readily. She doubts refusing is an option, but she would like to know more details before charging in headfirst to whatever dark side ritual is waiting for them.

As if he read her mind, Maul turns to her. “I require _willing_ participants, Satine. I cannot coerce your involvement, it must be freely given.”

Satine lets her gaze drift to the windowless wall, willing herself to picture the twisting spires and the city sprawl beyond it: Mandalore, a perpetually fragile world teeming with citizens who rely on the strength of their leadership to protect them from the wars of the galaxy beyond. A world that for all of its faults, she finds more beautiful than anything else in the known universe. She loves this planet and its people more than she loves anything, including Obi-Wan, including herself. This is the essence of Satine Kryze, the core of who she is: there is no hardship that she would not face if it meant protecting her people. “I am willing,” she says at last.

 

* * *

 

That night, right before the stars begin to appear, the trio make their journey to the isolated cave Maul has chosen for his ritual.  The stealth ship that they fly in on touches down almost inaudibly, and Maul creeps out first, then silently waves them forward.

They move quietly past the mouth of the cave, following Maul deeper in until the faint starlight from outside has faded and they remain in total darkness. A primeval terror – the one that taught her ancestors to fear the dark, and the things that dwell within it - wells up inside of her. Satine trembles as she realizes that the only indications she has that’s she’s not alone are the faint rasps of her companions breaths against the sticky, warm air. Perhaps sensing her distress, Maul activates his lightsaber, illuminating the pitch black of the cave.

They move progressively further in, until the passage opens into a wide cavern dripping with glistening stalactites. In the center appears to be a raised altar, as shiny and dark as volcanic glass. Her feet crunch into something, and when she looks down she throws a hand over to mouth to force down her horrified cry.

 _Human skeletons_ litter the floor of the cave, dozens of them- bleached white and picked clean. Their skulls have been carved with familiar runes, and Satine looks back up to the altar before them. She _knows_ what this place is. It is a shrine to the god of War, Kad Ha’rangir, and she estimates that it is at least a millennium old.

Already at the obsidian altar, Saxon lights a spark and a ring of fire blossoms around the edges of the chamber, providing much more ample illumination then Maul’s blade. Satine turns towards the Sith, and his eyes glow brilliantly in the low, flickering light. He inhales, and says almost rapturously, “ _yes,_ this is _perfect_. I can still feel the bloodshed, the sacrifices, the _violence_ and _pain_ that stains this place. It is _glorious_.”

Saxon’s teeth flash white as he bares them in a quick grin, and he returns to Maul’s side. The commander is trembling slightly with what Satine assumes is a mix of nerves and anticipation, and his hair is slickened with sweat. Satine wipes at the beads of sweat along her own brow- the fire has only worsened the humid air in the chamber.

At Maul’s direction they sit together a short distance from the altar, and he opens his hand to offer them a black root.

“What is this?” Satine asks skeptically.

“Dathomirian witches have long used this to lower mental defenses and open the mind,” Maul tells her. “A bite is all you need.” As if to prove it to her, he raises the root to his mouth and tears off a chunk.

Saxon takes it next, and then passes it to Satine. With a resigned sigh, she bites into it and chews. It tastes vaguely like licorice, with an aftertaste that is earthy and yet somehow alien. An image comes to her of pale skinned women, as beautiful and deadly as Asajj, chanting around a basin of green liquid, their voices rising together as their bodies sway hypnotically. Satine’s own body begins to rock, and her skin tingles pleasantly. She blinks and time warbles, slowing around her. Curious, she reaches out to stroke her arm, and feels the touch a few seconds later.

Maul is saying something, and his voice echoes in her ears, and she giggles, trying to focus. He is holding up a silver knife, and his blood spills down his palm. She stares for a moment, fascinated, before becoming distracted by the fires. The light is mesmerizing, a dance of color that she finds utterly _sublime-_

Maul is shaking her, trying to get her attention. “Take off your shirt,” she faintly hears him say. “I need to complete the ritual.” With a shrug, she complies, and feels him smear his blood into a symbol across her breasts before he does the same to Saxon.

He begins to chant, his words rushing together until she feels a _presence_ in the back of her mind. Maul pushes into her impatiently, and with a gasp she feels his mind touching hers in a way she never has before. Their thoughts mingle, and she wonders if this is what having the force always feels like to those born with it.

She looks to Saxon next, and as if on cue a part of his mind seems to unfurl inside of her, and she _feels_ some of his savagery, his ruthlessness. She looks down at herself with his eyes, and her body is no longer just a collection of limbs- it is an instrument of death; she instinctively knows how to use her hands to crush a man’s throat, or the best way to strike her elbow into the solar plexus or the groin to deliver maximum damage. The thought of those violent acts delights her, and she _craves_ it… and something even colder, something that must spring from Maul, rises to meet it, whispering not just of conflict and conquest, but of power and _subjugation_.

And then she sees a reflection of herself in both of them; a shard of gentleness, of compassion. She sees herself through their eyes- delicate and slender, and untouched by so much of the violence they both deal in, somehow both weak and pure at the same time.

Their thoughts start to blur and mingle together, and it feels like Satine is slipping into a collective dream they all share. It is too hard to distinguish where she ends and they begin, so she stops trying. Time, already slowed, becomes nonexistent, and she feels as if she is moving through molasses. Through the secondhand force sensitivity that her connection to Maul offers, she feels the heady power of the shrine singing to her, and she _understands_ the allure of the dark side. It whispers of power beyond her wildest dreams, of feverish pleasures, of secrets that defy imagination… _as long as she is strong enough to_ take _it._ Powered by the ancient echo of bloodshed in the cave, it fills them with its essence and murmurs that _peace is a_ lie _there is only passion…._ And that passion takes many forms- in an instant she feels a dizzying combination of hunger, ambition, rage, grief… and finally, most intoxicatingly, _lust_ – the original drive of all creatures, innate and as old as time.

Satine does not know if what happens next takes place in the real world, or simply in their shared dream that Maul has carved into the force. All she knows is that she turns to Saxon, and runs her fingers down his arm as if she cannot help herself. She looks at him and for the first time she is gripped by a burning desire for him, and because he is also in her mind and sees this, he lowers his head to kiss her. Satine thinks she feels Saxon’s hands at her naked breasts, and then his lips at her neck, and she folds herself towards him, grinding against his cock. In a heartbeat, or maybe an eternity, Maul is beside them, and the part of her that is Saxon is drawn instantly to him, and she gravitates towards the Sith. She sees him as Saxon does- his corded muscles that are strong enough to snap a man's neck, the gold eyes that gleam with an electrifying intensity. He is an avatar of War, exquisite in his fierce perfection, and yearning pools between her hips. Her hand stretches out, tracing the tattoos across his bare chest. Saxon does the same, and Maul allows both of their touches to continue, a low sound of approval rumbling up from his chest. 

Maul looks down at her, and brushes his thumb down her cheekbone, running it across her jaw and then up to her mouth. Satine thinks his lips move there next, but she cannot recall for sure. She does remember that he turns to Saxon and kisses him, and she feels the breath escape Saxon as he does. The tidal swell of Saxon’s desire- finally realized- rises up, overwhelming her, and for an instant she _is_ him, she is all of them, and they are her, and then-

Then they snap out of the cave, rising up into the galaxy beyond, past twisting whorls of green stardust, and spiral nursing nebulas that spin frantically as they birth more stars- then the stars are rushing together across the sky, their dazzling light bleeding into the void, staining it. Then the blackness rises up to devour the stars, and she is crushed by the totality of the night. The darkness that has become all things starts to _squirm_ around her, and she thinks it _notices_ her. She feels the vast, terrifying regard of a primordial force older then universes and older than life itself…faintly, she hears chanting that she thinks is from Maul. The void shudders and then-

They are snapped out of the cosmos, into her palace…. She sees herself held aloft in the air by Maul, and Obi-Wan is staring at her in horror.

_But._

This is not the future. She does not know how she knows, but the knowledge comes to her in an instant. This is the past…or at least, another past. What could’ve been.

She sees Maul fling her forward, right into the path of his darksaber. The smoke from the cauterized wound still rising from her chest, she hears herself whisper her last words to her Jedi love. _“Remember, my dear Obi-Wan…I’ve loved you always…I always will…”_

They snap forward again, and now it is Maul’s turn to grieve- his hand clasps desperately around his brother’s metal one as the magic’s bleed from Savage’s body. Green mist swirls between them, and from not far behind a shadow in the shape of a man cackles wickedly.

_“I’m not like you, brother. I never was….”_

They see Saxon’s end next, and it is an ignoble death, gunned down trying to shoot a fellow Mandalorian in the back.  

Finally they arrive in a desert, and a gray-haired man who Satine instinctively knows to be Obi-Wan readies himself before Maul, and then cleanly cuts down the Sith. Maul dies in his old enemy’s arms, all his ambitions and passion extinguished in an instant.

 _No!_ Maul snarls. _I want to see the_ future. _What_ will _be!_

The darkness seems to laugh, and it does not speak but Satine feels some primal truth impressed onto them through their connection. **There are a thousand futures. A thousand pasts.**

They snap back into themselves, their connection suddenly silenced. Satine is alone in her mind once again, and it somehow feels incredibly isolating. Her skull pounds as if recovering from a particularly brutal hangover and her body aches, but she reaches out towards Maul and Saxon, as if trying to recover some of the warmth of the bond. Her hand touches Saxon’s, and he squeezes it comfortingly- perhaps feeling the same sudden loneliness as her. Their vision is beginning to fade away, but for now the memory of her own death is still vivid and sharp. Panic seizes her, and she clenches down harder on Saxon’s calloused hand.

From beside them, Maul has somehow mustered the energy to rise. “We saw _nothing_ ,” he hisses. “Nothing that can help us.”

“We all fucking died,” Saxon croaks, disbelieving. “And we all died shitty fucking deaths.”

“We all died for nothing,” Satine says lowly. Tears spring to her eyes. “We can’t do that again. We have to do _better_ this time.” Maul and Saxon turn to look at her as she finishes. “We have to fucking _fight_.”

.            

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> so how much of that was actually a force vision vs a really bad trip?? hard to say, but there's definitely a bit of both...


End file.
